


That Adventurous Spirit He Inspires In Me

by AcierGlace



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Alpha Derek Hale, Anal Fisting, Autofellatio, BDSM Scene, Bad Sex - Discussed/Past Experiences, Being Triggered, Bottom Derek, Breathplay, Full Shift Werewolves, Intercrural Sex, Knotting, M/M, Not Season/Series 03 Compliant, Original Character(s), Praise Kink, Rimming, Sounding, Switching, True Alpha Scott, Xenophilia, aborted sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-21 05:13:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 47,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1538981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcierGlace/pseuds/AcierGlace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek figured it was less of a sexual recovery and more of a sexual quest in which Stiles was determined to cross off each and every sexual kink and role play scenario he could possibly think of. </p>
<p>Or Derek and Stiles get together and solve Derek's issues with deep, meaningful, explicit sex. A slice of life sexcapades series where Derek learns to like himself and Stiles, but most of all himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is purely self-indulgent porn/drama/fluff. Please let me know if I haven't tagged for something that I should to make this story more accessible.

Derek was pretty sure that this was the moment when everything he'd been waiting for at the start of their relationship was going to blow up in his face, just as Stiles got a good look at his tense expression and the total lack of enthusiasm down below. Stiles hesitated, hand hovering over Derek's bare chest with his knees on either side of Derek's waist, before scrambling off Derek and sitting awkwardly on the edge of the bed. 

“Guess I'm a little-” Stiles scooted over as Derek sat up next to him, nervous fingers fastening his jeans and twitching at the sheets. “Sorry, I didn't mean to just attack you like that.” 

“It's fine.” Derek wanted to reach out to him, but whatever momentum they'd built up just broke down for no real reason he understood. “Why did you stop?” 

“You aren't hard.” Stiles glanced over at him and fixed his eyes on the bedroom door. “And you were making that face, the one that means you're putting up with something. It was not a happy face. And you kept leading me forward and then going all stiff when I touched you.” 

“I'm just...” He trailed off when Stiles looked back at him. There was something unhappy on his face, but he wasn't sure how to make that go away, to just get back where they were and Derek could understand it. “What?”

“I'm just going to ask. Has this ever happened to you before? Did you think I wouldn't understand or accept it or whatever? It's fine if you're asexual or however you identify.” Derek got lost somewhere after 'accept' and his stomach twisted because this was a conversation he didn't know how to have. “If you can't get hard, I get that, too. But-” 

“Stiles.” Derek could hear the panic and the anger and confusion in his own voice, so there was no doubt that Stiles could hear it too, because he jumped at the sharp sound of Derek's voice.

“You can just say you don't want to have sex, alright?” Stiles nearly shouted, leaning away from Derek to grab his shirt off the floor. 

“I want to.” Derek climbed to his feet, hands fisted at his sides so he couldn't reach out and grab Stiles and hold him in place. “Of course I do.” 

“Why?” Stiles pulled on his shirt but stayed sitting on the edge of the bed, swallowing hard and heart racing when he finally looked up to Derek. He was not going to let this go, and Derek was very sure that this, whatever their thing together was, was ending tonight just like he'd expected it would. 

“Because I want to.” It sounded weak at the end and Stiles tightened even further at that, entire body poised to leap off the bed and get as far away from Derek as possible. Everything in his chest burned cold at the thought of Stiles running away from him. Of course he was screwing this up. It was only ever a matter of when. “I do. I'm not asexual or whatever, and I don't have problems getting hard.” His skin felt like it was rippling, locked somewhere between human and wolf instincts to grab, with hands, claws, and teeth. Anything to give him the edge in whatever fight he was going to lose.

“Then I think we've got another problem.” Stiles got to his feet and started towards the bedroom door. Derek lunged and grabbed the knob before Stiles could leave. 

“I thought you wanted sex.” Derek knew it was the wrong thing to say as soon as he said it but the right thing was not coming to him. Stiles gaped at him before clenching Derek's hand and forcefully pulling it off the knob. Derek wanted to grab it again, grab him, but there was actual anger pouring off Stiles and part of him was expecting Stiles not to come back regardless. 

“I thought you did.” Stiles stopped in the living room, waving his hand at the tv and open containers, all the remnants of a typical date night for them. “I thought that's what this was. You, making the first move. You wanted me.” 

“I do. It was.” Derek had planned to have sex. He was ready to give Stiles whatever he wanted and possibly enjoy himself too. He liked Stiles, which was why he'd waited this long before trying to push for more. Three weeks seemed like a long enough wait period before Stiles would leave, long enough for him to keep the good stuff without getting too attached, too upset when Stiles decided he got what he wanted out of this thing between them. 

“It didn't seem like it.” Stiles hesitated before softening a bit, shoulders rolling loose and body going open. “Were you nervous? I don't know how long it's been since you've tried having a relationship. Not since-” Stiles waved a hand and grabbed the back of the couch with the other. “We can go slow. We don't have to have sex now.” 

“I-” There was no good way to end that sentence. What he'd done before Stiles didn't really qualify as a relationship with anyone, not in the ways that mattered and lasted. Stiles was giving him an out though and he wanted to take it. “I haven't-” This was Stiles, who had been so direct and open about why he liked Derek and why he thought they should date. “You aren't-” The same Stiles who would hate him if Derek lied to him and used him and took advantage of his feelings to hide the truth. “I wasn't nervous. Not about the sex.” 

“Not about the sex?” Stiles repeated. Derek could hear his throat click and force the words out calmly, the agitation in his tense arms and around his eyes. “Was it me?” 

“I thought you'd want sex before you left me.” Derek's whole body twitched at that and Stiles looked horrified and so upset Derek wanted to pull the words back and make both of them forget he'd said anything. He dropped Stiles' eyes, not daring to look further up than his shoulders and see that betrayed expression again. 

“Left you? What? Why?” Stiles dropped his hold on the couch to curl his arm around himself like an extra barrier between them. Derek stared at the television instead of meeting Stiles' eyes, taking in the detritus of their date night that was possibly the last one they'd ever have. There was something epically tragic about those Chinese cartons spilled over his coffee table.

“Three weeks seemed long enough.” Derek wanted to reach out, but he was sure Stiles would actually cringe away from him if he tried. Instead, he hunched his shoulders and kept his arms at his sides through force of will.

“Do you want to break up? Is that what this is? Three weeks, sex with Stiles, then break up in the morning?” 

“I thought you would. I thought that you were holding out for some good sex and I was fine with that.” Derek swallowed down the misgivings and uncertainty that welled up from his twisting stomach. He'd read this completely wrong from the start.

“Derek.” Stiles wasn't yelling and that made this worse. “Dude, I'm so done. Good night.” 

Derek didn't try to stop Stiles from leaving. He didn't know what was wrong except that Stiles didn't want to break up, wasn't leaving him. At least, he hadn't wanted to then. Now, Stiles was leaving and it was his fault, because he hadn't understood something and should have known better and maybe Stiles would still be here. 

He grabbed the couch to stop himself from falling over. He needed to fix whatever it was he did, whatever he'd said, before Stiles went home angry and upset and stewed over this and never, ever wanted to see him again. He shrugged his jacket on over his bare chest, shoes at the door and listening as hard as he could for the familiar tempo of Stiles' jeep starting up and driving away.

He forgot to shut the door after himself as he ran for the stairs. Stiles wouldn't be too far and Derek was not going to fuck this up. He wasn't. 

Derek was never more thankful to be a werewolf since he would never have caught Stiles before he reached his jeep as a human. Stiles flinched from him when Derek caught his arm, Derek letting go quickly. 

“I'm sorry!” Derek shouted, almost frantic to get Stiles to understand so the sinking feeling and cold certainty that he was leaving would go away. “I fucked up; I get that. Fine. Don't leave.” 

“You-” Stiles cut himself off to scream into his hands before throwing them in the air and glaring at Derek. “I really like you. I know you can tell that, what with the nose and the ears and the never being afraid to just be invasive and nosy. Do not start right now!” He had thrown his finger into Derek's face, pointing somewhere around his nose. “So when you start being weird and all... passive I know something's up.” 

“I'm serious.” Derek tried to say, but it was lost somewhere in the meat of Stiles' palm when it slammed over his mouth, hard enough that his teeth clacked together. 

“I said, do not start!” Stiles kept his hand there until he was sure Derek wasn't going to say anything. “One, I am not interested in anyone else. Two, I have been trying to not be pushy about having sex or bringing it up because it makes you uncomfortable. Three, I know it makes you uncomfortable because I am not stupid.” 

“I never said you were stupid.” Derek pried Stiles' hand off his face but didn't let it go. He needed every possible advantage, considering he didn't want Stiles to leave, but felt overwhelmed as soon as Stiles said the word sex. 

“If you didn't think I wouldn't pick up on the fact that you think I'm only looking to get laid, then you think I'm stupid.” Stiles huffed and waved a free hand back to Derek's apartment, like he was referencing the stilted kissing, the passionless 'going through the motions' and the very awkward fact that Derek wasn't hard despite making all the right noises. “I was pretty excited when it seemed like you wanted to-” Stiles floundered, before he took a steady breath and bulldozed ahead. “Fuck me. I thought we were on the same page. I know that you know I would not fuck my friend to feel better or scratch an itch.” 

“I know.” Derek was ashamed to admit it. But he'd been waiting for this whole relationship to blow up, for the joke to be over, as soon as he agreed to go out with Stiles. Stiles had shown all the right signs that he was interested, and people who knew Derek weren't interested in the long term.

“You know,” Stiles agreed. He slumped back against the driver's door. “I wasn't going to break up with you just because we argued about sex.”

“I know,” Derek said again. Stiles gave him a doubting look, twisting lips and eyebrows and those knowing eyes that seemed darker in the parking lot. “I just didn't want you to leave angry.”

“I'm disappointed, not angry.” His entire face twisted into a look of supreme displeasure and the weight on Derek's chest lifted abruptly, a thin smile breaking through the deliberately blank expression on his face. “Please never bring this up again. God, that was awful. I never said that.”

“Didn't hear a word.” Derek leaned onto the jeep's bonnet next to him, skin prickling in the cooler air now that most of the tension had evaporated. Stiles took him in, eyes lingering over his stomach and dragging up to his eyes. He glanced upwards briefly, then sighed with a slump which swept down to his toes, and cocked his hip against the door.

“So, we're going to try this again. Hey, Derek, you're kind of awesome and I am awesome and I really think we can be awesome together. Yeah? Yeah. Great. So, let's pretend we've been dating for the past three weeks and tonight it seemed like you were putting the moves on me. Good call with the take out, by the way, I love orange chicken. So, wanna try cuddling on the couch upstairs and explaining why I would theoretically storm out if you were to, hypothetically of course, act like I'm a one night stand who pressured you into having sex?” 

“Sure. Easy.” His voice may have been a little hoarse and a little disbelieving, but Stiles was reaching out and threading their fingers together, squeezing hard. Derek was going to need to stop acting like being older and experienced meant he was more emotionally mature. And it really, really pained him that Stiles, who had stuck his chopsticks in his mouth and made growling faces at him earlier, was more emotionally mature. Or maybe just more emotionally secure.

“We can hash out the crazy together,” Stiles promised as they took the elevator back up to Derek's apartment. “If we could level about the ins-and-outs of werewolfdom, we can get the drama-and-angst filled mess that is your life straightened out too. Healthy relationships start with trust and honesty, after all.”

He would have rolled his eyes and left Stiles in the elevator if it had been any other situation. As it was, he didn't want to let go of Stiles' hand. 

“Thank you.” It didn't matter that it was nearly soundless. Stiles heard him. He tightened his grip and let the tension in his body drain out. He might have been sick to his stomach, ratched up on anxiety, and fairly certain that Stiles was going to take it back once he remembered Derek was an asshole, but he was going to be grateful every second that Stiles didn't. 

Their discussion went pretty well, considering he had to talk about the fact that he thought Stiles was just interested in the short term and Derek liked him enough to let Stiles fuck him. He held Stiles' hand even tighter when Derek admitted that he didn't always need to like someone to let them fuck him, just needed to like himself less than the other person. It got better when Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek's waist and sheltered him in his scent. 

Stiles didn't leave that night. They might not have had sex and instead slept smushed together on the couch, but Derek woke up happy and sticky from one of the containers of pork fried rice that had spilled over the arm of the couch while they'd been asleep. He was allowed to savor the feeling. It boded well for their future that they made it through their first relationship fight more or less in one piece. 

Derek got used to talking about all the collective shit that had ruined his life and what stuff left him uncomfortable in the wake of admitting as weeks passed and Stiles still wasn't leaving him. Mostly because his choices were between not talking about it and letting Stiles leave, or practicing a little trust and just telling Stiles. Not an easy decision, but easier when he had three weeks of a relatively happy and normal relationship to reflect on. It was therapeutic to confess to being a hormonal idiot with Kate Argent, to being too afraid to let Laura close when New York caged them in, to fucking who or whatever seemed like they wanted him, when Stiles was right there, refusing to let Derek try to talk about this alone or from a point of judgment. 

It wasn't that he hated sex or just had bad sex since he'd graduated from using his hand only. His first sexual experiences may have made him cringe and be ashamed, but he'd picked up the mechanics. He'd had great sex in New York. He'd been satisfied having sex when it was on his terms, when it could be completely anonymous. The few times he'd tried for more, tried to flesh out a one night stand into a relationship, didn't ever end well. Derek stopped seeing women for a while in favor of less strenuous hook ups with men, and Laura left two weeks later.

But most of his experiences were just mechanical, if not particularly fulfilling. Most of them were pretty girls in bars looking for a good night or pretty boys looking for someone to be their daddy. It didn't matter, then, that strong emotions weren't involved, since he'd been so sure he'd loved Kate, had loved Kate for years after the fire even. He didn't like being angry and funneling his anger into risky sex. He didn't like not being able to trust the person he was fucking, especially if they knew something about him. Most of his relationships were primarily sexual and measured in days and weeks. The lesser amount were waitresses, bar hoppers, and the occasional john in towns scattered along the interstates between Beacon Hills and Brooklyn. 

Before, though, he didn't have comfortable nights in ordering take out and streaming Netflix movies. He had obnoxious arguments over cleaning toothpaste off the counter and passive aggressively stocking the fridge with caffeine-and-sugar free beverages since Stiles mainlined Mountain Dew and Pepsi and never bought his own if Derek did. He could whisper his secrets to Stiles and trust that they'd never be shared or used against him. It was the best kind of validation to have Stiles listen and keep his secrets.

The fact that the arguments and complaints about having those talks had dwindled into barely believable sighs and a complete lack of cuddle-shame told enough of a story. Derek was also sure that Stiles'd gotten the idea out of one of the relationship books Erica gave him annually on Valentine's. And if that was the case, Derek wasn't going to tell anyone they'd been useful.

It took little effort on Stiles' part to lure him to the sofa and scratch his fingers through Derek's scalp. He'd feign minute hesitation, but he'd go easily enough and try to be as comfortable as he could with Stiles' bony elbows and knees prodding him.

“It's physical intimacy to bridge the emotional because we both know you actually trust me not to let you go without a fight, right? Right,” Stiles said as he curled over and around Derek, last growth spurt finally giving him those extra inches to edge past Derek's height. He'd never be as muscled as Derek, but Derek liked him like this, more because of than despite his octopus-like tendency to coil as many of his limbs as he could around Derek.

Stiles would usually tuck Derek into his body, arms closed around his chest, chin on his head, legs tangled with Derek's. He'd prompt and murmur when it seemed like Derek was having trouble, but just as easily kept quiet, for longer periods of time than Derek had seen before. He even traded a few stories, some of his relationships, while not Kate-levels of fucked up, were just as emotionally draining before he'd gotten wise about who to let close. He'd had fun and discovered things about himself when he'd left Beacon Hills for college, but he'd also learned intimately how things could fall apart in cruel and unfair ways. 

So Derek became a little freer admitting things, wrapped up in his best friend and listening to his heartbeat, and confessed to six years worth of bad decisions. 

Three weeks after the mess of their last sex attempt, Derek let Stiles know explicitly that he was interested in moving to the bedroom for sex. There was less hesitance now, after three weeks of frotting and petting where it was more than evident that Derek was wholly invested in the proceedings.

Stiles smiled at him, letting himself be pulled into the bedroom and tumbled under Derek. Kissing Stiles was easier now, too, since he wasn't waiting for that distance to rise between them and resign himself to cheap thrills and a cold bed later.

“Really want to fuck you, want you to fuck me. Both. Both would be good.” Stiles groaned out between breaths. Derek pulled him out of his clothes with no finesse, all headstrong determination and brute strength. He nearly ripped Stiles' jeans off without bothering with the button and zipper. 

“Yes, yes, want that.” Derek distractedly agreed, slipping out of his own shirt, and his breath hitched when Stiles rolled him, knuckles white as he held down Derek's shoulders. 

“I don't think we can do both. Not gonna take long.” Stiles helped him out of his jeans when Derek began to struggle, moving one hand to slide between the denim and his skin. Derek growled when the material stopped his leg from lifting around Stiles' waist, both of them pulling away from messy kisses and roving hands to take in the tangle. 

“Shut up.” Derek huffed as Stiles began to laugh and fell off the bed. Derek stretched out on the bed, battling the urge to both join Stiles laughing and sink into the bed and never come out.

“Maybe we should slow it down.” Stiles knelt at the end of the bed, fingers trailing up Derek's legs to grab at his jeans and gradually start to tug them off. “Commando. Nice.” 

The jeans were finally tossed to the floor and Stiles stood up, raising one leg and then the other to slink his way up to Derek's lap. Derek reached out to wrap his hands in the mess Stiles called hair and tug him down until he could shut him up with his teeth, tongue, and lips.

“Lube,” Stiles said as Derek licked his way from Stiles' lips to the crook of his neck. “Need lube.”

“There.” Derek waved his left hand at the nightstand, where over weeks they'd acquired various tubes of lube, boxes of condoms to fit Derek's girth and Stiles' length which were purchased despite Derek's insistence that there were no diseases, including made-up magical gonorrhea, that could pass between them, to which Stiles had lauded the merits of a quick clean up if they ever wanted to have un-planned bathroom sex at other people's houses, and a few personal toys that Derek hoarded over the years but was reluctant to trot out for company. 

“Think I can fuck your thighs instead?” Stiles asked as he brought a slick hand between them. Derek hadn't even heard the click of the tube, lost in focusing on Stiles' heartbeat and scent and taste of his sweat-salty skin. He left bright red, half-moon teeth marks and ran claw-tipped fingers across the broad expanse of Stiles' back, fingers finding moles through no more than memory. 

“God, that's perfect.” Derek almost wished he was exaggerating, but Stiles' slick hand was teasing his cock, the other encouraging him to move his calves to rest on Stiles', and this was already the best sex he'd ever had. Stiles lifted his hips and settled on his knees between Derek's thighs, eyes drifting from where his cock jutted up between Derek's legs to Derek's flushed and dripping cock then to Derek's open, panting mouth and bright red eyes. 

“Definitely not going to last. You're so sexy.” Stiles' slick hand was on his cock, thumb easing his foreskin up and then back, speeding up as Derek started to groan and thrust into it. Derek swallowed the loud moan that wanted out, trying not to dig his nails into Stiles' back as his entire body went whip-cord tight. 

“Move. Now,” Derek said through clenched teeth, closing his eyes as he shuddered around the tentative thrust of Stiles' hips, obviously trying to find pressure and traction. Stiles just huffed at him, moving his hand from Derek's hip to hold himself up as he dropped one of his legs flat on the bed. He was overbalanced and shaking, but the angle was excellent, Stiles' cock hot and dripping all over his thighs, Stiles' hand speeding up around Derek's cock, Stiles' hips nearly crushing him to the bed. 

“Wrecked and still wanting more. Fuck, Derek.” Stiles panted over him, pupils blown and face flushed. “Knew you'd be hungry for this. Didn't think I could-”

“Shut up.” Derek wanted to seal his lips around whatever Stiles was trying to say, not wanting to hear it and wanting it all the same. Stiles groaned, dropping down to his elbow, rubbing their chests together, slick with sweat, the head of Derek's cock brushing against the wiry hair trailing down Stiles' stomach. 

Stiles kissed his skin, chaste pressure compared to Derek's bruising bites left on Stiles' neck and shoulders. The slick, slapping sounds of Stiles cock thrusting between his thighs and his own stupidly loud groans undid him. 

“Ah! Stiles!” He came with almost no warning, just that lightening-fast ache that crashed through his body, balls drawn up tight and cock shooting between them. The first splash of come made Stiles shake and collapse, thrusting only a handful more before he came on Derek's thighs. 

Derek rocked him through it, hips jutting upwards as he rode through his own orgasm. Pleasure was a current, an earthquake under his skin, at each spot Stiles touched him, and he drifted with it, heady and happy and hungry for another orgasm. Stiles plastered himself against Derek, chin digging into Derek's shoulder and breath hot against his ear. Derek shifted under him, dropping his arms to circle Stiles' hips so he wouldn't get smart ideas about moving away to get clean. Derek liked the scent of them in the air, musk and artificial lube and all, and not even the slowly cooling come between them was going to make him move. 

“You have ridiculously quick recovery time, don't you?” Stiles asked as he squirmed and Derek's half-hard cock trapped between them twitched. Stiles moved his left arm so it draped next to Derek's other ear, running his fingernails through the thinner hair around the curve of his neck. 

“One of the benefits.” Derek let his fingers travel further down, mapping out the curves and dips of Stiles' ass and thighs, slid his fingers across his sweat and smeared his scent all over him.“Aren't you supposed to have a youthful libido?”

“It's not a hairtrigger, asshole.” Stiles shifted his hips anyways, more interested in teasing Derek to fullness than dealing with his own flaccid length. “Besides, the other side of twenty is plenty young. And I've had loads more practice building stamina.” 

“Uh-huh. Just keep moving, Stiles.” Derek palmed his ass and helped him grind and writhe, the friction uneven but Derek cared less about that than just feeling Stiles over him. 

“Seriously. Never had complaints. From anyone.” Stiles bit his shoulder and tugged the tip of Derek's ear when his fingers moved from his hair. 

Derek thought that this would have bothered him, three weeks ago and stupidly resigned to never having Stiles again. Instead, it was heartening to hear that Derek wasn't Stiles first, but was always going to be his choice. Stiles picked him, despite the boyfriends and girlfriends he'd acquired between junior year of high school and sophomore year of college.

“I might have a few,” Derek said, tilting his head down and to the side to chase Stiles' lips into a kiss. 

“Never satisfied with my hard work, are you?” Stiles whispered in the scant space between them. “Bitch, bitch, bitch.” 

“What hard work?” Derek pulled back so Stiles could fully appreciate the smirk on his face and rocked up hard just as he used his grip on Stiles' ass to grind him down into it. “Cause the only thing hard I see is mine.” 

Stiles laughed, utterly delighted and better than any offhand quip, because it was honest and open and Stiles wouldn't spare his feelings for pride or anything else. Stiles levered himself upright and glanced down their bodies to where Derek's cock was hard and slick with lube and come. 

“I think I've got one more.” Stiles rolled his hips and slid up, up, up, until his cock was flush with Derek's and he could wrap a hand around both of them. 

Stiles' long fingers curved around both of them, Stiles' cock sliding against his own. Derek couldn't raise his eyes from the sight of it, furiously red and pink and pale, smeared with their come and lube. Long fingers and his equally long cock pressed around Derek's cock, sliding with the slickness and still so tight.

“You better come quick, asshole.” Stiles should be over-sensitive and Derek couldn't find the energy to tell him that his second orgasm came quicker than his first. He couldn't do much else but thrust into Stiles' hand and moan. 

Stiles came first with a choked cry and come splattered right up to Derek's chin. The whole experience of Stiles coming on him, pulsing against him, dragged his orgasm out. Stiles was still shaking and panting as Derek pulled him down and kissed and bit every inch of his chin where he'd spread the come on Derek's face to his own pink-raw lips. 

“We'll do that again,” Derek said in the hushed quiet, running a hand up and down Stiles' back, soothing the tremors and placating his own need to just touch every part of Stiles he could reach. “In the morning, after coffee, on my counter.” 

“Excellent plan.” Stiles rolled to his side and dragged his hand through the absolutely filthy mess between them. “Might need a bigger counter though.” 

“I'll get one.” Derek needed a bigger everything, enough for two instead of one. He'd bought this tiny little bachelor pad intent on having his own space, couldn't stand having what little he had stuffed in the trunk of his car for safe keeping. He could stand having more space. Enough space for a pack. Especially if Stiles was so determined to stay with him. Derek could look into it, find a purpose for the land where the Hale House lingered, grotesque. Maybe not that soon, but he could start looking. 

“Maybe you should start with a bigger bathroom.” Stiles offered as he made faces at the cool come on his fingers and all over Derek. “I don't care how much you want to smell like a porn set, but I do not. Go fetch a washcloth or something.” 

“I'm going to bite you.” Derek climbed to his feet, locking his knees before Stiles could see him shiver in pleasure or fall over. “On your ass so hard you won't be able to sit without yelping.” 

“Bring it, bitch.” Stiles' voice was obnoxious and clearly never meant for sweet pillow talk. Derek could deal with that. 

It was obvious the next morning when Stiles fell from his precarious position on the counter that sex was going to be that thing between them that was just as easy as everything else.

Once the swearing died out and it was obvious Stiles wasn't hurt, landing on his ass instead of his head, Derek didn't even try to hold back laughing at the stunned and affronted look on Stiles' face. He dropped off the counter to sprawl out next to Stiles and forestall the outrage he could see boiling up with his mouth. 

“Maybe we should give that a try on the couch instead.” Derek tugged both of them upright and spent the next three or so hours under Stiles. 

It was everything he'd wanted a first time to be, so easy to let Stiles lead and guide and try so hard to please both of them. He would feel guilty about it, but Stiles gave him a flat stare every time Derek put up the flimsy argument that he should be the one drilling Stiles on the furniture. He caved to that look, especially when Stiles switched their positions and still ended up doing all the work. 

Derek could admit to liking that attention, the care, the deliberate guiding touches, and he felt especially triumphant to tell this all to Stiles while playing big spoon because werewolves were furnaces and Stiles liked the weight of his arms around his waist.

It became so easy to just let Stiles continue to take from him that, many days and several orgasms later, when Stiles had slid his hands up and raked his nails across Derek's thighs and Derek had instantly froze, body tensing in a very clearly uncomfortable way, Stiles reintroduced the whole "talking about our issues while necking" concept, as it had very clearly been quite the success before. 

Derek told him that he'd slept with a werepanther back in New Jersey that liked to tear at his thighs and calves, and then masturbate while he slowly healed. He could hear Stiles' always slightly elevated heartbeat race. 

“You know, Lydia and the Brennen pack are pretty friendly. I could probably convince her to ask for a few favors. Just in case you're interested.” Stiles told him, very quietly and body so still.

“Wouldn't want her to go through that much trouble.” Derek tugged him up, until he could curl around him, cock flagging after the shock of unpleasantness. 

“It's not trouble, Derek. Pack takes care of pack.” Stiles dropped a hand to card through his hair, obviously still nervous about running his nails against Derek's skin because he was so precise and careful. 

“Shut up.” He growled a little because there was nothing else to say to that. It was the gesture more than anything, because he knew Stiles wasn't joking about this, never this, but Derek couldn't remember the guy's name, let alone anything else but those awful claws. In the morning, he said thanks anyway and blew Stiles until he forgot about it. 

It was pretty obvious that he never did, always let the pads of his fingers drag through the wiry hair on Derek's legs, eyes dark and warm.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Warnings: 
> 
> Kink/Interests Discussion  
> Auto-fellatio  
> Rimming  
> Aftercare (mostly relaxation)
> 
> Mentioned (but not explicit):
> 
> Toys  
> Using a Video Camera  
> Spanking

 

-X-

 

The floor had been opened to discussion of their sex lives from that point onward.

They chose a night when the pack wasn't expected to drop in or need either of them for any emergency. Stiles muted the television but left it on, giving both of them an option to watch something instead of each other. They were on the couch, fingers tangled together and curved into each other's space. It was more relaxing than Derek would have thought, given what they were going to talk about.

“So, I think I'll go first. Pretty sure I have a longer like list than not like, but that's probably good.” Stiles started, Derek glancing over to see Stiles fixated on Community instead of watching Derek. “Right. No humiliation. No punishment. No blood, sharp things, knives, or whatever. You've got claws, and I'm okay with that, but I really don't want you to use enough force to pierce. Red lines and bite marks are okay, but no worse.”

“No claws.” Derek agreed, grimacing at the memory of the night before.

“No public places. Not the least because my dad would have a heart attack and then kill both of us. That's not just a personal me-and-you thing, either. I've been told more parking horror stories than you can believe.” Stiles laughed a little at that and Derek couldn't stop snorting. “No forced anything. No non-consent play of any type.”

“No. Agreed.” Derek sobered up a bit at the idea. He shuddered at just the idea of either of them staging any scenario where their consent didn't matter. Where they could ever just ignore the reservations and fear of the other, even if it had all been predetermined.

“No swinging, threesomes, or orgies. I like personal relationships to just stay between us. I have a big mouth sometimes, but I won't talk about the personal details. Not even to Scott.”

“You can. Or, if you do it accidentally, it'll be alright.” Derek was certain about this. Werewolves were raised with significantly different levels of personal boundaries. He could hear every time his parents had a night in or Peter and his wife had a date night. Soundproofing muffled noise for werewolves, but not well enough that it was gone completely. “I don't think you'll give a play-by-play recitation, but you can talk about stuff. Once the house is built, anyone who stays over will hear it all anyway.”

“Whoa, wait. The house is built?” Stiles repeated, turning towards him so quick Derek startled. “Sex discussion on hold for a second. When did you start building the house?”

“We were at the house just last week. Did you somehow miss the construction zone?” Derek grumbled a bit, face heating when Stiles flicked his shoulder and snorted. He hadn't meant to say anything until he had something solid to show for it. Loose lips sunk sex discussions too, apparently. “I've been researching, after I got the county to turn it back over to me. It's nothing yet. Peter found the old blueprints and I have a friend in Montana who agreed to make improvements. She builds pack houses so she'd have some ideas of how to plan for a siege.”

“Holy shit.” Stiles pulled at Derek's clasped hand until he turned to look at Stiles. “That's really cool. I can get if you want to do it alone, but maybe I can help? Or at least listen when you want to talk about it or can't decide on something. I am awesome at that.”

“I wanted to wait until I had something better than an idea. It's the pack house-”

“It's your house, Derek,” Stiles interrupted. “Your house. If you want us there, we'll be happy, but it's your house.”

“It'll be the pack house.” He was certain about that much. They made do with scatter houses and abandoned buildings, but they needed a base, a home to go to for everyone. “We can look over the blueprints when she sends them back, and you can help me figure out the rest of the property. I don't want to make the same mistakes and I know you're good for defense.”

“I am good for all kinds of thing. I'll help you.” Stiles leaned into him, drawing up his legs to curl into Derek's side completely. “Awesome. Okay. Sex. We were talking about sex. Okay, there wasn't much left really, not that comes to mind. This is all hard line stuff, like I am not comfortable or okay with any of it stuff. Like watersports, scat, mummification, infantilism, choking, whipping, branding.”

“Oh my God.” Derek dropped his head against the back of the couch so he wouldn't have to even chance a look at Stiles' face. “No. To all of that. Where the hell did you even hear about that stuff?”

“It's called the internet, Derek. You can print off check lists for most BDSM practices, and my second girlfriend and last boyfriend were sort of into some of it. Not the stuff I said, but I remember marking lists with each of them, talking about our limits. Pretty refreshing way to do it.”

“You are ridiculous. Anything else?”

“My forearms.” Stiles was quiet, twisting their hands so his inner wrist was pressed into Derek's thigh. “You can suck my fingers, bite my fingers, whatever, but I don't really like teeth near my forearms. Lips, sure. No teeth. I had a bad experience with someone who liked to use her teeth and ignore me when I said no.”

“My stomach,” Derek offered, moving their hands so they were pressed right into his side. “Kissing is okay, I think, but don't lick it or like bite at it. Just along the sides is fine. But no teeth near my bellybutton. I've never liked having mouths there.”

“Okay. What else?”

“Hard line stuff? Pretty much what you said. No teeth or tongue on my belly. No clawing my legs. Uh, not really into being restrained. Not... Not right now. I think if I could let anyone, I could let you. But not right now. I don't know if you could bite my neck or anything, either. It didn't bother me before, but, as an Alpha, it's weird.”

“Okay. Sounds clear enough.” Stiles nudged him. “No werewolf urges I should know more about? No mating season or pon farr? Is knotting a thing? Scott won't tell me if knotting is a thing and none of your betas will either.”

“Alphas don't usually start heat cycles until after they're mated.” Derek deflected, ignoring the last bit. Knotting was a thing for born wolves, at the very least. He wasn't sure if being an Alpha impacted Scott that way, and he wasn't ever going to ask.

“What? Really?” Stiles was in his face immediately, just about fallen into Derek's lap to get there.

“No, dumbass. No werewolf mates. No heat cycles. Maybe the neck thing, but otherwise, it's just the same. Might want to mark you up or enjoy how you smell like sex, but that's pretty human.”

“Dick.” Stiles settled into his lap at Derek's urging, stretching out his legs. “What about other preferences? I'm absolutely a switch, but what about you? Cause I'm not gonna lie, Derek, but you look like someone who'd just throw me to the ground and plow.”

“You missed all that sex earlier?” Derek asked, avoiding a direct answer.

“Dude, you look like a superhero with those muscles and I am totally down to getting plowed by the Alpha Avenger. Rawr.” He pressed at kiss to Derek's shoulder, which shook just a bit as Derek sighed. “But, no. I did not miss all the sex earlier. That's why I'm asking. If you want to be on the bottom of this sex-sandwich, I am fine with that.”

“That doesn't even work when there's just two of us, Stiles,” Derek said, rolling his eyes and drawing their clasped hands up to mouth at Stiles' knuckles.

“Sure it does, you, me, and my awesomeness absolutely count as three.” Stiles leaned up to bite at Derek's ear, pulling on the lobe gently. “I like giving you things, Derek. I like taking care of you. You being bottom is the best treat. Me being bottom is a tasty, tasty treat with ice cream. Let's play it by ear, huh?” He blew on the wet skin around the shell of Derek's ear, goosebumps racing down Derek's back and cock instantly hard.

“Works for me. The sex, not the pun.” Derek leaned away from Stiles' teasing mouth. “That should be unattractive on principle.”

“Whatever gets you in the mood, baby. So. In the interest of moving this to sexier places, I kind of started putting some stuff together, just based on the stuff I know I like. I can get my laptop, we can go to the bedroom, and I can talk you through some of them.”

“Hm. I like that plan. Just one edit, though.” Derek released Stiles' hand so he could sweep Stiles up as he stood, draping him over one shoulder and palming his ass to keep him in place.

“Manhandling. Nice.” Stiles swatted at his ass, legs flailing a bit as Derek started to move through the kitchen to snag the laptop on the counter and then straight back to the bedroom where he tossed Stiles on the bed.

Stiles didn't so much as have a list as he had a spreadsheet of what he'd like to do to Derek, what he'd like Derek to do to him, and what they should totally do to each other simultaneously. Derek was more than on-board with most of the things Stiles wanted, partly because making Stiles happy made him feel more like the person he'd wished he'd been, and partly because he was curious and wanted them too. If Stiles ever caught on, which Derek knew he had simply because Stiles got this look on his face when Derek agreed to things with very little consideration or forethought, Stiles had yet to actually say anything about it directly.

Derek was starting to think that maybe it wouldn't really be necessary. He was already drastically different from the person he'd been when he started this with Stiles. He was talking about his feelings now, for one thing. For another, he had a routine with his long-term boyfriend that included visitation on campus, meals with the Sheriff, a summer-only roommate agreement, a volunteer group he supervised, and monthly meetings with Scott and Stiles over on-going pack issues. He had a more stable life now than he'd had in too long.

That life still included semi-mandatory sex talks. It was easier to agree to the things Stiles wanted to do instead of asking for things, because Stiles' ideas always sounded better, visceral and raw, when Stiles asked and they talked about it. Stiles' kinks all seemed to be his, except for a few things that he was willing to try on a trial basis and with thorough research, and it was easier at times just to wait to see what Stiles would ask for, when most of Derek's wants were fulfilled almost daily. He wanted intimacy and comfort more than nipple play and spanking, not that he didn't enjoy those, but what he really wanted always follows after. If he was more self-conscious when he slipped on his belts, it was only because he couldn't help but remember how the leather felt when it smacked his ass, or how hoarse Stiles sounded when he'd climaxed as Derek spanked him.

So Derek waited and listened and usually always, always agreed. Stiles sometimes frowned a bit when he thought Derek was just saying yes because no one had ever let him say no or assumed not saying yes was the same as agreement, but it was not like that with Stiles so would he please, please just not question his agreement. Stiles would sigh, like life with Derek was the worst, and then he'd smile so soft and slow Derek wasn't sure why Stiles didn't think life with him was the worst but the best. Derek had met some of Stiles' lovers. They were better people than Derek would ever be, even if he gave up being an asshole and devoted his life to the happiness of others. He didn't always see what Stiles saw in him.

He knew exactly what he saw in Stiles. Even if he hadn't said it to his face yet.

Derek reminded himself of this when he nearly had a heart attack because Stiles thought it was a good idea to blare the tv over the sound his heartbeat and spring out from behind the front door as soon as Derek got home. Whatever Stiles had planned to say got lost in the hysterical laughter that bubbled up when Derek wolfed out in surprise and nearly tripped over himself trying to both get away from the threat and strangle Stiles for scaring him on purpose.

“Stiles! You're such an asshole.” Derek snarled, beta face on and outraged.

Stiles kept laughing, wrapping his arms around himself and leaning into the wall to stay upright. He started laughing harder every time he looked up at Derek, so Derek ignored him and tried to pull back from being on threat alert. He shrugged his coat off and threw it over Stiles' head, just hard enough to upset his balance and send him to the floor.

Once he finally calmed down enough to speak and Derek brought himself under control, Stiles apparently forgot his initial plan of attack and Derek set in to wait.

“So, uh, I was thinking that I'd like to try something except it doesn't really involve you, not in the traditional sense anyway, because you are definitely going to be involved, but you don't have to do anything exactly,” Stiles said as he shuffled awkwardly from one foot to the other and resolutely maintained eye contact with Derek.

“Like I wasn't involved with the dildo involved or-” Derek let the end trail off and his lips twitched into a quick smile before trying to marshal the stern look back on his face.

“Yes! Exactly like that. Excellent pattern recognition. Good job.” Stiles swayed forward and kissed his cheek loudly, smacking his lips and patting the spot with his right hand when he pulled back.

Derek angled his head to the side to nip at Stiles' prodding fingers. He pressed his palm against Stiles' waist and pushed him back into the apartment gently, locking the front door as soon as they were inside. Their neighbors were tolerant of Stiles' antics spilling into the hall, but Derek was pretty sure that Catiria across the hall was going to start leaving traps if she caught them frotting against the front door again. Also, Stiles would think ambushing him at the front door was going to be an acceptable method of persuasion if he didn't try to hint otherwise.

“Remember Jun? She left me for Risa the contortionist after Risa's class? And I was bragging about it until Erica and Isaac called my bluff and I had to teach them?” Stiles trailed after him as he went straight to the kitchen and helped himself to the casserole Stiles had cooling on the counter. Whatever he wanted could seriously not warrant this level of buttering up.

“Yes, Stiles. I remember,” he said as he fixed a plate for Stiles too and waited until he took it before starting to eat.

“So I wanted to try something, and since I don't have class tomorrow and you don't have to babysit or whatever-” Derek stopped correcting him the second time he called the Youth Crisis volunteer group Derek was leading 'The Ask Me About My Feels Club'. He learned to roll with it, and derogatory nicknames were just how Stiles functioned sometimes. He knew Stiles liked to be an asshole and he wasn't all too far off the mark about babysitting. His high school volunteers could pay more attention to the active listening skills and positive messages they're supposed to be employing instead of gossiping about him. “I thought tomorrow would be great. Since we'd need the whole day.”

“Sure,” he agreed readily, just to see Stiles narrow his eyes and try to look suspicious around the mouthful of casserole he'd taken. Derek had eaten squirrels that couldn't look that ridiculous.

“Great.” Stiles spent the rest of the night looking both pleased and nervous, which Derek could understand since he was feeling about the same. They weren't new at this, but introducing something new, even if Derek wasn't going to be directly involved, still meant some awkward arousal and nervous anticipation. Derek felt like he shouldn't be this awkward, especially considering the things he'd done in the past, but that was probably exactly why Stiles was awkward with this. It was touching. In the way that kinky sex with Stiles was touching.

Stiles octopussed himself around Derek when they finally went to bed and Derek relaxed. No amount of awkward would stop this part of their relationship. Derek nudged Stiles' arms so they were firmly around his waist and nuzzled his chin onto Stiles' collarbone. He drifted off listening to Stiles' heartbeat and incoherent mumbling.

Stiles spent the next day drinking more water than Derek had seen him drink since he'd been training for the Beacon Hills PD charity run. They had an early brunch and camped out in the living room, marathoning Warehouse 13 and making out. Definitely one of Derek's favorite dates.

“Can you get a bath going?” Stiles asked when there was a commercial break, sounding distracted, but Derek wasn't too concerned. Stiles had been just as nervous over the spanking, even before they leveled up from palms to Derek's leather belt.

“Anything else you need?” He paused in the bathroom doorway. Stiles shook his head and took several breaths.

“I'm good. Just a little-” He shrugged. “I think you'll like it.”

“I'm sure I will.” Derek raised his voice as he started to run the water and waited for it to get hot enough before plugging it. “Like I liked the dildo. And the video camera. And the spanking. And I can't forget the rimming. Definitely liked the rimming.”

“Oh my God, this is exactly why no one believes me when I say you're worse than I am with sexy talk.” Stiles' heart rate picked up and he sounded outraged. His face was probably flushed. Best type of Stiles face. “They think your dirty talk is all 'yeah, baby, take it, take it hard' and 'get on your stomach so I can mount that tight ass.' It's ridiculous.”

“Stop gossiping with Erica, Stiles.” He'd filled the bath about halfway, poured in some of the werewolf-friendly bubbles Stiles liked, some bath salt and left only the lights above the mirror on. “You know she just likes to rile you.”

“Yeah, whatever. Are you gonna strip and get in or what?” Stiles sighed heavily, like Derek was the one being antagonistic. Derek pulled off his clothes perfunctorily, just as at ease naked as he was fully clothed. There were just some situations that werewolfdom prepared a person for and casual nudity was one of them. Besides, he'd had Stiles' tongue in his ass. Embarrassment wasn't an issue. He lowered himself into the bath with a groan and rested his chin on the cold edge of the tub.

“I can see your eyes shine,” Stiles said as he stripped off his clothes slowly, dropping them in a puddle with Derek's. Derek hummed and flashed the red Alpha eyes. “All the better to see you with, my dear Derek.”

Stiles slipped in with him, bracing his back against Derek's chest and stretching out his legs. Derek's hands went to his shoulders and back, massaging like Stiles had admitted to liking somewhere in the rough beginning of their relationship.

“I need to do some preliminary stretches first, really limber up. Lots of water, nice relaxing bath, and best massage ever.” Stiles hummed under his hands and wiggled, ass grinding back into Derek's cock. The bath wasn't quite long enough for either of them to fully stretch out their legs with the way they were sitting, even with Derek's legs propped up and spread around Stiles.

“You're welcome,” Derek said as he leaned forward and dropped his chin to Stiles' shoulder.

“You're gonna like this. Gonna feel so good with your eyes on me.” Stiles' breath hitched as Derek nipped and kissed his way to the nape of Stiles' neck.

“I always have my eyes on you,” he murmured back and eased up on the firm touches to Stiles' hips. He pulled back to make room for his arms and ran gentle fingers over the lines on Stiles' back.

“Really wanted to show off for you, brag about it. But-” He moved his hands to Derek's knees and started rubbing. He tugged lightly on the wiry hair. “Jackson especially would never shut up about it. Asshole.”

Derek let him go on and on, nipping his ear once when he laughed a little nervously and whispering in the near dark bathroom. “Stiles, you really couldn't look bad doing anything, and I've seen you in some really ridiculous situations, Mr. Daffy Duck for the Fun Run.”

Stiles'd exhausted himself chasing Bugs Bunny Scott, so it'd been embarrassing for everyone. Stiles tipped his head back on Derek's shoulder, obviously hoping the low light kept Derek from seeing the flush, but well, werewolf, so he'd elected to ignore it and focus instead on Stiles' affectionate smile and new-found determination.

“Don't drain it, okay? I'll need to relax after, plus we'll need to clean up, so it's like a bonus.” Stiles climbed out, grabbing a towel and drying off quickly. He tossed one to Derek before nearly running to the bedroom.

Derek followed after him more leisurely but couldn't hide his anticipation and arousal as Stiles proceeded to climb on the bed and slowly stretch out. He caught Derek's eye and held it as he lifted his legs over his head and onto the bed while keeping his torso flat, extended into the plow position. He kept going until his shoulders, neck, and head were left on the bed and he'd straightened his legs out where they reached over him. His hands grabbed his ass, pulled it slightly closer to his face, and then he grinned and waggled his tongue out.

“Get it now, Derek?” Stiles smirked at him and danced his tongue out again, tauntingly. There were scant few inches between that swaying tongue and the flushed red tip of his cock.

Derek collapsed near the edge of the bed, eyes locked on Stiles' face, his tongue, his ever-closer creeping cock, and must have had a really stupid look on his face because Stiles uncurled slowly, body going flat prone on the bed. Derek swallowed, throat tight and dry, and nodded.

“With an opening like that, I'd better be getting the whole show, Stiles,” he said as he caught the base of his cock and tightened his hand. He wanted to watch this, but God, it was going to be so hard to control himself.

Stiles reached out and scratched his nails gently through Derek's hair. “Don't get ahead of yourself. I've got to stretch out like that some more so I don't strain anything. I'd really like you to be involved, okay, Derek?” Derek nodded dumbly and leaned heavily into the side of the bed because staying upright and on his knees was not helping. Too much temptation to just climb up and put his hands everywhere.

Stiles stretched and Derek watched, holding himself back from just humping his hand but whining high and long when Stiles gave his stiff cock a languid pull, more to tease than to please because Derek knew Stiles needed a tighter grip than that to masturbate with intent.

“Let's get on to the main event.” Stiles' eyes darted from Derek's eyes to his cock, hand clamped to himself and smiled, obviously very pleased with himself.

Derek unfolded from beside the bed, crawled up next to him, and asked him,“What do you want me to do?”

“Bring those,” here he gestured to the pillows at the top of the bed, “ down and tuck them under my neck and shoulders.” Derek knew his hands were shaking a bit and knew that Stiles could see them, but he was really ready for this to keep going. He eased Stiles' head up and nudged one pillow in place. “Perfect. You can place your knees against my upper back and you can put your hands anywhere.”

Derek let some of Stiles' weight rest on his knees and thighs and teasingly ran his hands up Stiles' sides before resting them at his hips. Stiles shuffled a bit then fully extended himself into position.

Stiles slipped the head of his cock between his lips, eyes shuttered and fixed on Derek's face, darting out his tongue to run as far as he could reach it down the shaft. Derek's hands moved to rest on Stiles' ass, careful not to press down, running his hand down past his hole, past his perineum, to roll Stiles' balls into his palm and help Stiles direct his cock between plush red lips. He was smearing pre-come across Stiles' back and throbbing with the need to come, but he couldn't move his hands away from Stiles.

Instead, he lowered his head, watching Stiles dart his tongue around his red flushed cockhead, and mouthed messily at the flesh of Stiles' ass. Stiles slipped the head of his cock from his lips and moaned, muscles flexing under Derek's tongue and fixed eyes.

“Yes, please, whatever you want, Derek, let yourself have it.” Drops of pre-come smeared around his lips as he spoke, wiped away under a pink tongue. He grit his teeth around an inhale as Derek licked a swath over Stiles' hole and perineum. “Feels so good. Keep doing that.”

“You look so good.” Derek nipped and laved his tongue from the meat of Stiles' ass, using one hand to help spread his ass open, rolling Stiles' balls in the other. He was stretched completely over Stiles to taste and watch the proceedings from the front row. He probably should have stretched out like Stiles had, but werewolf flexibility was helping him keep his balance and curl his back despite it. He wasn't about to let discomfort sway him from watching Stiles suck himself off.

Stiles was sucking pre-come from his own cock, whimpering loudly when Derek traced his tongue around Stiles' hole and darted short licks across it. He groaned into the taste, just sweat and Stiles and he'd never get tired of rimming Stiles. Never. He could come from just this, body alight from the sounds, the taste, the smell of Stiles' pleasure.

Derek kept moving, rubbing his perineum with his thumb until he could suck at it then mouth at Stiles' balls. He moved his hands to brace himself on the bed and against his own knees because he really, really needed to taste everywhere.

“Ah!” Stiles made a fairly devastated sound at that, even moreso when Derek slid down, down, down, until he could trace the seam of Stiles' lips and the cock buried between them. It was the filthiest kiss, sliding his tongue along Stiles' and catching bitter pre-come from Stiles' cock, tasting come and saliva and sweat.

“Derek!” Stiles pulled off quickly, moaning long and high as he striped his face with his own come. Derek drew back, let Stiles uncurl and stretch, before sinking over him and chasing come with his tongue and persistently mouthing at his face, hand striping himself furiously, spilling over Stiles' hand when he reached down to help.

He let his weight settle firmly over Stiles, cock still sensitive and twitching against Stiles' hip, but unwilling to move. Stiles threaded his fingers in his hair pulling until he could kiss whatever he could reach, lips curled up in a smile. Derek hummed back, nuzzling Stiles and letting his scruff drag against Stiles' pale skin and flare up bright red, before Stiles winced and Derek went to get the bath hot again and fish out a washcloth. He ran his hand down Stiles' back as he helped him up from the bed, quiet and satisfied as only Stiles could be, and let some of the residual strain creep into his body from the contact, leeching the edge from Stiles.

It was when they were both sunk in the bath, Stiles letting Derek rub him clean, that he finally broke the silence. “What did you think? Hot right?”

“Hm.” He kissed Stiles' neck, right where it flowed down to his shoulders, that hollow that tasted clean and smelled heavily of Stiles' sweat despite the bath. “One way to describe things.”

“You liked it, though. I can tell these things.” Stiles didn't smell of nervousness and didn't feel tense, but he could be insecure and Derek would never pick up on it.

“Of course I liked it. I've always been fond of that mouth.” He bit down firmly on Stiles' shoulder. “And especially fond of things gagging it.”

“All the better to eat you with, my dear Derek.” Stiles' laugh rocked his whole body firmly against Derek's, cock twitching with interest at the idea of getting that impertinent mouth around it.

He wanted to blurt out his first thought in the lull that followed, that he'd never seen anything so erotic in his life, when he swallowed it back and went quiet. Because while it was true, he couldn't help but think about the whole thing, from the water and stretching, to the bath, to the more stretching, to the “whatever you want, Derek.” If all Stiles wanted to do was impress him, he'd have surprised Derek by being prepped and blowing himself on the bed when Derek came home.

But he hadn't. He'd wanted Derek there. For all of it. Even the not-exactly-erotic bath and stretches.

“Best thing I haven't been involved in.” Derek liked making Stiles laugh when he got to feel it so intimately, the way he shook from his core outwards. “Think you could teach me?”

“Big guy like you? Easy.” Stiles twisted in his arms, hip grinding into Derek's cock and eyes dark in the half-light of the bathroom. “If Erica says she could teach Boyd, you can get it.” He lazily fondled the length of Derek's cock under the water, a slick slide that Derek arched into. “Helps that you're so gifted.”

“It's not just for show.” Derek agreed, hooking one leg on the outside of the tub and sliding down until he was mostly stretched out under Stiles. The water rose to his neck and Stiles slipped further up his body and lay down, his feet dangling over the edge of the tub. Stiles sighed and sunk into him, hand not quite gripping him any longer which was fine since Derek was content to buoy Stiles up.

It was the first time he'd ever felt like something Stiles wanted forever, like he was someone Stiles wanted forever.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Warnings: 
> 
> Full-Shift Werewolves  
> Near-Death Experience  
> Switching  
> Use of Toys (dildo)  
> Rimming  
> Knotting  
> Xenophilia (non-human/human sex)
> 
> Mentioned (but not explicit): 
> 
> Kidnapping/Torture  
> Blowjobs (Xenophilia - non-human/human)

Derek took Stiles to the Hale House the day before they demolished the remains. The pack met out at the house frequently when they'd began consolidating and then less and less when they scattered into colleges. Derek hadn't spent much time at the house on his own, not once he'd started to feel like he had a handle on life again. If the county hadn't claimed it and motioned to have the rest of the Hale property ceded to the preserve, Derek wasn't sure he would have ever tried to do anything about it, potential hazard or not.

As it was, he couldn't let his childhood home go without doing something. Everything about it was an awful reminder but he wasn't going to bury himself where they'd buried the last of his family. He needed Stiles to be with him for this, to get him through it and understand why it was important. He needed Stiles to do this with him, so he could let it go.

“I'm tired of being afraid of this place.” Derek pushed the front door open, battered wood swinging on the hinge noisily. “I hate it.” 

Stiles was pale, eyes darting around because it never felt safe or private. Hunters never stopped putting roots in the house when they blew through town, spitting on one of the last places Derek had left of his family. Derek knew Stiles hated the house too, but would be quiet about it for him since he'd made his opinion on the house clear once he'd taken over as emissary.

“But I want to do something about it.” 

“You're going to rebuild.” Stiles leaned into his shoulder, eyes on what was once a dining room. “That's something.” 

“Not here.” Derek waved a hand at the blackened walls and floor, the gaping hole in the room beyond where Peter crawled out of his grave. “The pack is more than this. More than Hale. So we're rebuilding, further out and bigger than this.” 

“That's why you had two different designs,” Stiles said as what Derek meant began to sink in. 

“Boyd and Erica want their own place. And no one wants to live with Peter or let him out of sight.” 

“Nice gesture and excellent foresight.” 

“I want the Pack House big. Enough for everyone. Enough for what will come. Because pack isn't Hale anymore and won't be again.” 

“Whoa, dude. I don't think-” 

“I need to honor the last Hale Alpha the way I should have from the beginning.” Derek pulled Stiles closer, because for all Stiles was smelling anxious and a little scared, Derek needed his support. He needed to make this last gesture to Laura.

“Derek, you're the Hale Alpha,” Stiles said, misunderstanding his point, but that would be alright because Stiles would understand eventually. Derek led both of them out of the house to the treeline where Laura had been re-buried. 

“I wasn't meant to be an Alpha,” Derek reminded him, marking out Laura's grave so the contractors would be respectful and gesturing to the carnations he was going to plant at the edges. “Not me. Not Peter. Not Cora. Laura was so much more than all of us, a real leader. She would have been able to help Scott, help you. She would have given Boyd, Isaac, and Erica a better start. Would have known better than to bite Jackson.”

“You fucked up, but you were all we had for help, Derek. We made it through.” Stiles didn't help him, but he didn't mind that. Derek had helped most of his family to the grave, the least he could do was make that grave with his own hands. 

“I know.” Derek understood what Stiles thought about his Alpha status and how he'd gradually improved on it. They'd fought about it before they'd even liked each other, and they'd struggled with it when they'd started dating and it set the pack on edge. “But I wasn't ever supposed to be. She was. She was my Alpha, my last Alpha.” 

“I'm sorry.” Stiles crouched down next to him, dragging carnations over to plant, if only because the guilt of desecrating Laura's last grave had finally motivated him into helping Derek put this one to rights. 

“We were both so angry when we left. No idea what to do. New York was Laura's choice. She went into criminology at NYU. Wanted to be a P.I. and hunt down who took our pack. She was so goddamned smart, Stiles.” He paused, steadying himself with a deep breath. “I never told her what I did. What I helped Kate do. I thought she'd hate me for it. So I drifted from her, made a whole bunch of really stupid decisions. And I was fucking some guy I picked up at a club when she left. Told me she'd wait for me until the flight, had a ticket waiting if I thought I could try.” 

“Derek-” Stiles stopped arranging carnations, clenching his fists and looking angry and determined, like he did most times Derek raked himself over the coals of the Hale Fire. Derek tempered down his grudging smile.

“I didn't get the message until she was on the plane, started after her in the car maybe hours after she'd already-” He stopped, swallowing hand and dropping his eyes to her headstone. “After she'd died. I hated myself for killing another person I loved. I never said that I was sorry. That I loved her. That I hated being alive some days I nearly ripped myself apart and I would trade places with her in a heartbeat if I could just know for sure she'd be here.” 

Stiles didn't say anything, hands on the ground beside his, shaking when he lifted them and Derek placed the last of the carnations on her grave, digging his fingers into the soil. He had to say this. Had to hear it from himself since there wasn't anyone else who knew Laura as she'd been. Smarter than everyone in the room and so blindly hopeful that they could do better.

“I'm so sorry, Laura. I love you, and I miss you and everyone else. I'll try harder. For you. For them-” He swallowed hard, grief welling in his throat and aching to spill out. Instead, he clenched his hands so hard they bled out over her grave, sealing a promise he'd live for. Stiles just kept quiet, silent support until Derek exhaled gustily, swallowed back his tears and leaned back, just enough he was no longer hovering over her grave. He didn't move until Stiles sniffed, face a little paler, eyes red.

“You're a fucking idiot, sometimes, I swear.” Stiles climbed to his feet when he finished and placed both his hands on Derek's shoulders as he moved behind him. Derek stayed on his knees at Laura's graveside, the red and yellow carnations spilling over everything but the stone marker. “You are the most dramatic fatalist I have ever met, and thank God you're so emo looking or it wouldn't work-” 

“If you have a point, I'd make it, fleshy human.” Derek dropped back into Stiles' legs and bared his teeth tauntingly at the pained expression on Stiles' face, trying for a smile that wasn't coming. 

“You don't have to prove anything to anyone, Derek. I'd say no one cares, but that's not true. The important ones? The ones in our pack? Don't care. We've seen you at your worst, dude, and I know we'll see your best. Do it because you want it.” Stiles' eyes were sad and distant as he looked past Derek to the grave and back at the ruined house. “Just try. That's all you should do. We'll help you. I'll help you.”

A few days later and there was nothing left of the original Hale House, not even the cement basement. Derek had numerous people out at the house to knock down the remains and dig out the concrete. He collapsed the old tunnels, burying all the bad memories at last. He had the land filled and looked for a new beginning somewhere else on the property. There was only a clearing with Laura's grave, carnations thriving. 

The Pack House was deeper in the woods. Taylor, his friend from Montana, had sent back several improvements when Derek had finally cleared out the land. There was one larger house and two smaller cabins at opposite edges of the property line. The Pack House was bigger than the Hale House, enough space for a young pack to grow and private cabins for pack use. 

The Pack House was a two-story affair, sprawling across the clearing. They'd settled on just two stories and a basement, but there were three bathrooms, four guest rooms, a joint master bed and bath on the second floor, an office/library adjacent to the master bedroom, two dens, a dining room, a kitchen, a mud room, and most of the basement was a weapons/magical artifact storage space. The windows were large, reinforced glass they'd special ordered and Stiles warded. It didn't look much like the old house, but there were places where he could see the improvements, the new worked into the old.

“It looks good,” Boyd said at his shoulder when they finally finished painting. Derek had planned for white with blue trim and accents, but Lydia flatly refused to allow it and then the rest of the pack bitched and moaned until they'd settled on an extravagant green with dark grey accents and a dark wood porch. 

“It looks something,” Derek said, frowning when Boyd clapped his shoulder and then lingered, arm across his back. He didn't comment when Derek leaned into it, edging closer to him. 

“Better than red,” Boyd pointed out. 

“It just means you're getting the red house, you know,” Derek shot back. Erica had fixated on painting the house a frightening shade of red she'd said matched his Alpha eyes. She'd gotten Stiles' support and then Scotts' and it'd taken Allison and Boyd three days to talk them down. By then, Lydia had moved onto a shade of green that nearly lost the house in the surrounding vegetation, and everyone else demured.

“I can live with that.” Boyd squeezed his shoulder once before letting go, stripping off his paint-stained shirt and heading for the house. “Want a bottle of water?”

“Thanks.” Derek nodded and began to pack up the rest of their supplies, eyes lingering on the unused paint cans and hoping he could get some money back if he returned them. He ignored the sound of the jeep turning into the driveway and coming up fast, Stiles, Erica and Cora arguing about something too quick for him to understand. 

“Hey, weren't they in charge of buying the interior paint?” Boyd asked from the doorway, throwing a bottle of water to Derek. Derek nodded and then stilled, the jeep parking behind him just in time for the water bottle to slam into his chest and slip through his outstretched fingers. 

“And failwolf strikes again! You okay over there, Derek?” Stiles shouted, falling out of the driver's side with all of his usual grace. Derek flipped him off and bent to grab the bottle, ignoring the whistle with practiced ease. 

“You boys working hard?” Erica asked, stepping out and taking paint cans from Cora in the back seat. 

“Just finished the trim,” Boyd said, gesturing to the cans by Derek. “Someone failed math and ordered way too much.”

“Jackson.” Derek sighed, nudging one can with his foot. “I don't think they'll take it back since it was a custom color.” 

“I'd send Jackson back with it, then. He can throw a tantrum until we get some store credit.” Cora had her arms full, a stack of cans three high in either hand. Erica balanced four more, which she carried straight over to Boyd and dropped to the ground to swipe at his chest with a bandana from her back pocket. 

“You know none of those colors are what you originally wanted, right?” Stiles said, paint-can-free and rocking on his heels when he stopped at Derek's side. “Erica and Cora talked them around to blue tones, with some orangey-yellow stuff for the kitchen.”

“I trust Cora and Lydia to pick the color scheme.” Derek pulled Stiles closer, making sure to drag his forearm with the wet paint across Stiles' back. 

“Allison had a pretty good eye. She and Isaac are grabbing the last of the paint and some of the furniture. I told them not to worry about the master bed and bath.” Stiles leaned into his side and hooked a finger in a belt loop. 

“Just no more red. That is literally all I care about. No red. No shades of red. No red silk sheets.”

“No red,” Stiles agreed. “What are your feelings on yellow?” 

“As strong as my feelings about red.” 

“So is that more or less than your feelings for me?” 

Derek smiled, just a little bit and too fast. He wrapped his hand around Stiles' hip and tugged him in, leaning over to press his mouth just below Stiles' ear. 

“A lot more.” Derek kissed the soft skin of Stiles' neck. “But lucky for you, they're all positive feelings.”

“Mmm.” Stiles turned, catching his lips and holding him in place. “Mine too.”

“Hey! Paint? House? A job to do?” Cora yelled from the porch, passing half her stack to Boyd. “Ringing any bells? Lets go, dickwhistles! I want this shit over with.”

“Your sister is a prize,” Stiles muttered against his lips and then he pulled back. He smacked Derek's ass as he walked away. 

The rest of the pack filtered in as they finished painting the hallway and one of the dens. Isaac and Allison left the rental truck next to the jeep, Allison handing over the keys when she pulled in. Jackson, Danny, and Lydia brought with them a mess of electronic equipment for home security and bullied Derek into helping them install it throughout the property and house. Scott showed up last, trunk full of supplies from Deaton for warding the clearing and the storage in the basement. 

Derek let the pack and all their bickering wash over him, lingering away from color disputes and paint fights, mostly involving who could get paint on the others without suspicion. He caught Stiles' eye once, Stiles helping Scott paint the kitchen a sunrise-orange shade that nearly glowed in the afternoon light. He had significantly more paint on him than earlier, including a messy handprint on his ass that matched the one on Scott's. Stiles waggled colorful fingers at him.

They moved in most of the furniture when the paint dried, a mix of items Derek picked out and what the pack wanted. It was a werewolves-only task since they could carry in refrigerators and solid oak dining room tables individually. The pack had all brought in something personal to contribute, whether it was drapes or rugs or novelty wolf paw decals for the mud room. Erica scrounged up a bear skin rug for the smaller living room, shamelessly pouting until Derek promised not to get rid of it. 

The pack came over less as the two cabins were finished and summer started to end. Lydia was headed back to Boston, finishing up her Masters in Boston and eager to start interning with Van Dyne Fashions. They had a small party for her at the Pack House, the various Pack parents invited as well. He'd lost Stiles somewhere in the first hour, drifting between Melissa and John and Erica and Boyd.

He let John lead him to the mostly empty kitchen, the music in the den raising in volume. John offered him a coffee cup and waved a hand at the counter, settling in one of the stools. 

“The house looks really good, Derek. A lot of room, maybe, but very beautiful.” 

“My mother used to have visits from the supernatural community, and it seemed like a good idea to have the space. Just in case.” Derek sipped at the coffee which tasted just the right amount of sweet. “It's space to grow.”

“Even with just you and Stiles in?” John asked, eyes drifting around the room instead of staring at Derek. His shoulders relaxed just a little bit more as he took in the Iron Man magnets on the fridge and the messy handwriting on the white board tablet next to the fridge. 

“It's never quiet,” Derek said.

“It won't be, if he has his way.”John laughed softly, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the counter and hitch a foot on the bottom rung of the adjacent stool. “What do you think of Deputy Cartwright?” 

“He's been here a year? Two?” 

“Two. He's partnering with Nokken.” John waved a hand absently. “I've been wanting to bring him into the fold since Nokken started working with him.”

“If you think he'd take it well, go ahead,” Derek said, since this was an informal request that had probably been through Allison, Scott, and Stiles before him. He would have heard otherwise, at least. 

“She's got good instincts, more than just being who she is,” John said. “I need the majority in the know, if we want to have a hope of just keeping things quiet. And I can't use my team effectively if they're all in the dark.”

“I know.” Derek sighed and drained the rest of the mug. “If your huldra deputy wants him to know, she'll be certain of him.”

“I know,” John agreed, and let the silence sit for a moment before launching into a story about Harley, who'd been in Stiles' graduating class, and the new dhampir deputy she'd been partnered with and unimpressed by. Derek laughed in all the right places, eyes absently following John's hands as he emphasized this point or the other, seeing so much of Stiles in him it was like looking ahead in time.

“Have you tried this yet?” Stiles demanded, worming in between Derek and his father. He waved a forkful of pie in Derek's face, nearly jabbing Derek's chin with the tongs and smearing blueberries across his face. 

“Stiles, I was just talking to your dad about how his new officers were doing at the station.” Derek gestured to John and shoved the fork out of his face.

“The dhampir and the huldra, right?” Stiles asked absently, sticking the fork at the edge of Derek's mouth. “Seriously, try this. Boyd's gram made it and it is actual magic and love made real. It will make you smile.” 

“Yes, the dhampir and the huldra,” John agreed, taking the fork from his son and ignoring the resulting squawk. “Damn, that's good. Real butter and sugar, too.”

“Dad!” Stiles tucked the plate of pie in his other hand behind Derek's back, reaching for his stolen fork with the other. 

“You're being rude, Stiles. We were talking,” Derek swiped the pie plate and offered it to John, snagging Stiles' arms and holding him still. “Sorry, sir.” 

“All forgiven,” John said, eyes bright with laughter as he took another bite of pie and sighed. “Boyd's gram made this? I better go compliment her. Thanks, son.” 

“You're an ass,” Stiles grumbled, watching his dad walk away with contraband pie.

“You wanted us to get along better,” Derek said, backing Stiles up against the wall and pressing his hands against it. “I think we're getting there.” 

“He's liked you for a while. Don't buy that tough dad routine.” Stiles wrapped his foot around Derek's ankle and tugged him closer. The music Danny set up earlier drowned out the rest of the pack, but Derek could tell no one was paying them any attention. 

“I'm buying the tough Sheriff routine. I know he'll go through with that one. I've been arrested before,” Derek whispered, letting his mouth curve into a smile at Stiles' expression, a mix of annoyance and excitement. 

“Never gonna let that one go, are you? One little mistake and suddenly it's a thing with you.” 

“Three times, Stiles. I've been arrested three times. And I spent that last one locked next to Chris Argent yelling for his lawyer the whole time.” 

“Yeah, but that was the plan, wasn't it? Get arrested, kick up a fuss, and you all handle the djinn when it goes after you.”

“I feel like you're missing the point,” Derek said. He kissed Stiles to stop any further arguments. It was nice, being surrounded by pack and having a new home. The whole house smelled like pack that night, no longer like paint or construction workers or new wood. 

They hadn't been living there for long. Peter stayed in one of the cabins unless Lydia and the pack had use of him. Boyd and Erica stayed in the other one, a more modest and traditional style that looked more like the old Hale house though was Alpha red. Derek and Stiles were the only ones who actually lived in the Pack House, but the revolving door of pack members meant they were never alone. Werewolves might have been about close ties, and while his family hadn't minded living together, this was a new pack and only bloodshed would come of trying to all live on top of each other. It was still better than he'd imagined it would ever be. 

The fact that the Hale pack had settled, had reclaimed their territory and secured it, didn't mean that trouble wasn't reluctant to invite itself over. Despite how calm it had been when he'd been growing up, his mother hadn't been known for her ferocity and strength because she'd inherited the land. The Rocs were just the latest bloodthirsty creatures that had dropped in.

“Beacon Hills jokes are no longer funny. Calling it, dude. No more.” Stiles was pressed back against Scott, hands covered in mountain ash and still the best thing Derek had seen all day. 

“Dude, you're the only one that thinks they're funny.” Scott nudged him with his knee, pressing it into Stiles' back and nearly toppling him over. The rest of the pack were spread around them, Derek stopping at the treeline where he'd just chased the last of the Rocs out of Hale land. They wouldn't be coming back.

“I thought they were funny.” Cora was helping Erica support Boyd while he healed. She rolled her eyes at Stiles when he cheered. “No. They were never funny, asshole.” 

“So, are we done here, or what?” Jackson said impatiently, drifting further from the pack. 

“We're done. They're gone,” Scott answered as Derek came into the clearing, eyes meeting and flashing red. 

“Won't stop until they clear the ocean. They'll probably find somewhere secluded from man to stay.” Derek pulled Isaac from the ground, checking the mostly superficial wounds now that the healing had kicked in. 

“I'll have my dad put out the word to track them so they really do disappear.” Allison melted out of the treeline behind Derek, dropping out of the tree she'd been crouched in to keep an eye on the sky. Derek let her pull Isaac from him as the pack moved together, Jackson sulkily joining the fringe and only because Derek growled at his attitude. 

“I'm going home,” Erica said as she wrapped Boyd's arm more securely over her shoulders. “Anyone coming?” 

“Pack house?” Stiles asked, Derek hauling him up and letting him lean heavily into his side. Stiles hadn't actually fought the Rocs, but maintaining the barrier to keep them on the ground took serious energy. 

“She said home, right?” Boyd snorted as he limped under his own power, Cora and Erica keeping him upright. 

The journey back to the house was slow with various pack members tired or injured. Scott was at the head of the group, Allison and Isaac at either side. Jackson stomped after them, face mutinous. Cora, Erica, and Boyd were after him, Boyd still weaving because head injuries took longer to heal, especially injuries inflicted by other supernatural creatures. Derek was at the rear of the pack, arm draped around Stiles' waist like Stiles' was wrapped around his.

“Fair warning, celebratory sex will be happening whether you're all here or not.” Stiles raised his voice so everyone could hear, despite the fact that everyone would have heard him anyway. Derek rolled his eyes. 

“Gross, Stilinski.” Cora sped up a little bit, almost overtaking Jackson and leaving Boyd to Erica. 

“No one wants to hear your pencil-dick sex. Especially since we'll just hear you crying like a bitch.” Jackson shot back. Cora smirked at them and bumped Jackson's shoulder in solidarity. Derek knew it was toxic to let them be friends. 

“Someone's jealous they're not getting any.” Isaac whispered to Allison, his voice easily carrying to everyone but Stiles who was too busy making faces at Jackson's back to concentrate on anything else. 

“Really, Stiles,” Erica purred over her shoulder and dropped her hand from Boyd's waist to dip into his back pocket and grope. Derek tipped his head back and tried to ignore the lot of them. “We can hear quite a lot out here. Maybe you shouldn't be so loud. Who knows what else you'll attract to try to eat you up.” 

“-get plenty, Lahey. But if you're into being the bitch filling in that sandwich, more power to you. Wouldn't want to cramp the begging.”

“Quit being such a dick, Jackson.” 

“Only wish you were Lydia's bitch-”

“-kinda like the begging.” 

All arguments were suspended as everyone looked at Allison. She kept walking, Scott whistling low and pulling Isaac by the hand after him. 

“What'd I miss?” Stiles whispered to Derek, eyes darting around the group. Cora, Erica, and Boyd let Jackson stutter and scowl as they left him behind. Derek just sighed, clapping Jackson's shoulder and giving him a hard push ahead. 

“Nothing important.” Derek ignored Jackson's venomous glare and kept pushing until he got his ass in gear. “You could have gone with her, Jackson. No one made you pick Berkeley.”

“Shut up.” 

Jackson had picked Berkeley well after Lydia told them all about MIT. They seemed to function better as a couple with independence, despite the obvious sexual frustration that seemed to pour off Jackson most days, and he wasn't going to get involved in it. If Stiles hadn't stayed in California, Derek was sure he'd be in the same situation so he was more inclined than the others to tolerate Jackson's douchebag setting. Plus, Jackson still had trouble completely disrespecting Derek's authority since he'd seen the absolute monster Alpha Derek could become. 

“Not to interrupt the merriment, but we've got bigger problems.” Peter was on the porch when they finally broke the treeline. Sitting beside him, upset, injured, and terribly frightened, was a naiad. 

“Alpha Hale? Please, I need your help.” She looked at Derek, bypassing the determined-looking Scott and the startled pack to move right to Derek and hold his free hand plaintively. “Hunters are after me.” 

“Fuck,” was all Stiles had to say on the matter. 

Fuck was an understatement. 

Derek had never met a naiad before or heard many stories about them. He knew they were spirits of water, Greek in origin, and usually stuck to whatever was named for them, like the rivers, lakes, and streams. He knew they were beautiful. He didn't know much else, let alone that they apparently had powers to entice, like sirens, but he wasn't an expert in other supernaturals, that was why he had Stiles and Deaton. 

The story came out in bits and pieces, rambling and incoherent at parts. He and Scott helped her to a guest room, letting her have some privacy while they tried to figure out what the hell to do. Koryfi had been taken by hunters from her home in Utah, forced into using her powers to lure other supernatural creatures, and escaped when Hunters captured a rugaru and were more worried about not dying than stopping her from slipping her chains. 

This was a brand new fucked up situation and there was no way of knowing who they could trust with what information. Hunters using monsters to hunt monsters weren't likely to be all too concerned with non-violent werewolf packs.

“I updated my dad,” Allison said as she came into the den. She dropped on the couch next to Scott and sighed. “He'll let me know what he can. Most hunters don't operate like hunting families, so there's not much chance we can strong-arm them into leaving her alone.” 

“What about less supernatural means? We can spin it like she's been abducted by crazy religious freaks or supremacists. Not all that far off and we can send her to my dad. No one will believe she's some kind of monster, not coming from guys like that,” Stiles suggested next. 

Murmurs of assent and appreciation followed, but involving the police would not completely solve the problem. Basic digging into Beacon Hills news would make it more than clear there were some supernatural creatures in the area, and most hunters knew about the Argents, if through no other reason than rumor. 

There was a high chance that hunter traffic in the Beacon Hills area would rise, while the nomadic supernatural population would fall. Leaving the pack with all of the fallout. Not ideal. 

“What about getting her back without anyone realizing?” Isaac asked from his position on the floor in front of the couch, dropping his head back against Scott's leg. 

“Do we know anyone in Utah?” Erica jerked her head in the direction of Koryfi's room. “Because getting them on our side might be harder if they know her. They'll think we're selling them out like she was.”

“Being used for evil doesn't make her evil,” Jackson, not surprisingly, pointed out. “And there's that psychic in Utah. Cordelia or Coretta.” 

“Tatiana,” Cora corrected. “Cordette is the selkie in Omaha.” 

“Whatever.” 

“Tatiana might help.” Stiles sat upright, hands tangling together and elbows on his knees. “We can get her to file a missing persons for Koryfi. Get her to put down some groundwork at home. We can take Koryfi to Dad and corroborate. Really get tension high and if some other charges get levied on them, there's less chance of hunter fallout because it'll look like they got lazy.” 

“If anyone knows how they were hunting, they'll come looking for Koryfi.” Scott reminded him, though Derek could tell he was warming to the idea. The less actual involvement of the pack, the better it would be for everyone in Derek's opinion. 

“Allison, how likely would it be that hunters would come here if you're the one handling her?” 

“Some would still come. Especially if I'm involved. Since we're not actively hunting anymore, most hunting families won't go out of their way to help us unless they owe us a favor.” 

“The main problem is who knows about her and how to minimize that knowledge so it doesn't implicate us as werewolves,” Boyd said as he moved upright, Erica's hands hovering despite the fact he was moving steadily. “The supernaturals in Utah might have heard about her. Her family knows something's wrong by now. Hunters smart enough to use her to hunt down others might be smart enough to have covered the trail linking them together. Which means going to the police might not mean shit and we'll still get fallout.” 

“We can't kill them.” Scott's voice was absolute. Derek nodded with him, staring down Jackson's rising anger. “It'll be more suspicious if hunters known for using a supernatural creature suddenly died in a town that has a history like ours.” 

“Right,” Stiles agreed and the mutinous air in the room began to dissipate. No one was happy with it, and despite how easily Derek could agree with Jackson's urge to eliminate threats, he was smart enough to rise beyond the impulse. Scott was right. 

“So what do we do?” Cora asked the room at large. 

“We start with the legal route. Allison, if you're the one who takes her to the station, it'll give the impression that she's sheltered or protected by the Argents. It'll be more harmful, I think, if we do it. Too clearly tied back to Derek. You won't be. Cora, if you call Tatiana and brief her on what she can do to help out, or even if she'll help out, that'll be great. Derek, she went to you for help, so she'll want to deal with you directly. You're going to get the full story from her. Good? Yes? No? Feedback, people,” Stiles snapped his fingers, near impatient now that something beyond a general outline had been achieved. 

Again, murmurs of agreement filled the room and Stiles slumped back, looking satisfied. Derek dropped his arm along the back on the loveseat and cupped the back of Stiles' neck with his palm. He squeezed lightly and Stiles toppled over into him. 

“Who's letting Lydia know what's going on?” Isaac asked as the pack started to disband. Derek reluctantly pushed Stiles away to go with Allison back to Koryfi's room. 

“I nominate Jackson.” Erica smirked as she and Boyd left the room, heading back to their own house. 

“Peter probably told her already. He's required to report shit like that to her.” Jackson huffed, but nodded at Scott on his way out. “I'm telling Danny. In case.” 

“See if he can look into suspicious activity in Logan. I know Tatiana is in Salt Lake, but they can have an online friendship, something where Koryfi was supposed to contact her but didn't. Maybe we'll get lucky and someone already has a missing persons filed. Ask him to look at that too,” Stiles shouted as Jackson rolled his eyes, gave him the finger, and nearly ran out of the house. 

“I'm going.” Derek pulled away from Stiles' reaching hands to join Allison. 

“I'm with you, wolf-girl.” Stiles crawled over to the other end of the loveseat nearest to Cora. 

“Lucky me.” She sighed and pulled out her cell phone, ignoring his grabby hands as she called Tatiana. 

Koryfi had been absolutely miserable, horrified with what she'd been forced to do and see, and didn't actually know any other supernaturals in the area who could help her. 

“My girlfriend. They. She was fae and she was powerful. She'd claimed the town before we started dating. They killed her to get to me. They said they'd hunt down her little sister and they'd make me watch. I couldn't- I didn't resist then. It was just monsters at the beginning. Wraiths and tulpa and a rawhead. But they made me lure a skinwalker. He was fifteen and just learning how to shift and they pulled his skin off in front of me.” 

Allison had been met with distrust, so Derek had been the one to sit next to her. Now, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her in, long dark hair spilling over her face and his arm as she cried. He didn't get any more from her, wasn't sure it would be his place. 

“We'll help you. You're going to be safe here,” he murmured into her hair. There was a bittersweet smell underneath the filth and death and rancid flesh scents on her skin. It was grief and pain and horrible, horrible hope. He and Laura had both smelled like that for years after the fire. “We're going to make you safe.” 

“Please,” she repeated until her voice was hoarse and his t-shirt was damp. Allison handed him tissues, face pale and eyes red. Derek nodded thanks to her, rubbing his hand down Koryfi's back until her heaving sobs died down. 

“We're going to the police to file kidnapping charges,” Allison said, her voice light but firm. No nonsense and ready. “We know the Sheriff and I can use my family connections to drive back whatever hunters we can. If they come here, we'll stop them.” 

“We'll do everything we can,” Derek promised, tucking her hair away from her face and offering the tissues. She wobbled what may have been a smile at them before burying her face in the tissues and swiping hard at the tear tracks. 

“Hey.” Stiles' voice and a knock before the door opened. “Brought you some clothes to change into. We've got a bathroom ready and a first aid kit if you need it.” 

He had a bundle of Cora's clothes over one arm and the familiar bag of medical supplies slung over the other. Derek gave him a grateful smile and helped pull Koryfi to her feet when she could barely stand. Allison offered her hand and, with the smallest hesitation, she took it and let Allison lead her out of the room.

Stiles hovered behind them, watching them go, before looking at Derek and waving a hand at him. “Get over here.” 

“What?” Derek stopped at his side, eyebrows jumping up when Stiles grabbed the back of his neck and pulled his mouth down to cover his. 

“I have such a care-taking competency kink, you have no idea. Why are you so hot?” His voice was plaintive at the end, eyes closed and face twisted in pained arousal. “Holy fuck, Derek.” 

Derek flushed, tips of his ears going hot. “Shut up.” 

“I want you to know that if we didn't have to deal with this, I'd be blowing you right now. Right here on my knees in this hallway with you fucking my mouth so hard we both pass out.” 

“Stilinski! What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Cora's outraged shouting reached them and it was the perfect excuse to huff in exasperation and take the clothes and kit from Stiles. 

“What a shame,” Derek said, walking down the hall to where the girls disappeared, feeling Stiles' eyes on his back the whole way. 

John was sympathetic to the cause. He'd been hot and cold with the supernatural aspect of Beacon Hills ever since Derek and Stiles came out with their relationship. Derek could understand the reluctance and perspective he had on it. If his son was increasingly getting into trouble, trouble that could best be described as life or death, and all for a man that had a track record like his, Derek was lucky to have the support he did. They had mandatory weekend family meals, barring no ongoing issues, and he'd told Derek to call him “John” when the house was finished, as apparently Stiles moving in was the final item to get his approval of their relationship. 

Of course, Stiles himself probably tempered whatever justified outrage and upset since the initial blow up. Stiles had gone with Allison and Koryfi most likely to minimize whatever reaction John would have over the latest mess. He was also going to use his time there with unsupervised access to the Sheriff's computer to check for any leads.

John had been extremely reluctant to let the pack deal with the Rocs, citing several unlikely competencies of his officers with the supernatural, including the dhampir and huldra officers he'd recently hired. Hostile hunters in town would likely lead to increased curfews and patrols and marked suspicion of all new visitors. 

“So, there was a missing persons filed,” Stiles said, voice clear despite the obvious hand he had over his mouth and the receiver on his phone, a blatant advertisement that he was up to something to anyone in the room with him. Derek didn't need to see it to know it was true. “Unfortunately, it's obviously from the hunters. One Melanie Wesson. To be contacted for one Koryfi Lake, not the best surname for a naiad b-t-w. And here's the really good part. Koryfi may exhibit suspicious and disoriented behaviors due to diagnosed paranoid schizophrenia. Please contact her long-term care physician Dr. Frederick Smith immediately.” 

“So they have a doctor in on it, too.” Derek sighed and leaned against the door frame, eyes in the middle distance of the living room. Cora was staring at him, blatantly ignoring whatever she was watching on the television. They were waiting for Erica to get off work and help them check in with the locals.

“Bingo. Which makes this a nasty mess of red tape and bureaucracy. According to the legal trail, she's been admitted to private home care for the past eight months with live-in roommate/nurse Melanie and seeing Dr. Smith for five months whereupon she has been diagnosed as mentally unsound and as a possible flight risk. The official line is she escaped Melanie's care and believes all her acquaintances to be untrustworthy. They said she thinks they're going to kill her.” 

“Fuck.” 

“Oh ye of little faith, it gets slightly better.” Stiles huffed loudly into the receiver and Derek rolled his eyes. “Koryfi and her girlgriend were well-known in their neighborhood and there are several character testimonies that Koryfi is not a crazy shut-in and has never been seen in the neighborhood associating with Melanie. Aubrey Daniels, Koryfi's fae girlfriend, was spotted with Melanie through security footage from several ATMs moments before her murder. There's some doubt over their claims at the Logan PD and once Dad reported in her location, a few federal agents began prying into it. Including-” 

“Please, please tell me that McCall is not one of them. Stiles. Please.” 

“That's why it's only slightly better.” Stiles paused and dropped his hand from the receiver, as his voice came in clearer without the muffled sound. “Scott's talking with him and he'll handle his dad. The truce they made? If he wants to keep his job, he'll hold to it.” 

“He hates supernaturals.” Derek grimaced at Cora's fake-vomiting performance in reaction to the news. “He nearly killed all of us, including Scott.” 

“I'd like to say he's better now, but he's always been an asshole. Listen. Scott and Mama McCall laid it clear to him before he blew out of town. He keeps his promises and no one in the FBI learns about how he beat several teenagers, shot two more, and nearly committed vehicular manslaughter. He might hate us, but he loves his job. And he, not unlike some other nameless people of the past, was only trying to help their family. In his own twisted way.” 

“So, we'll have Koryfi, the hunters after her, the federal agents and law enforcement potentially after them, and a werewolf pack all in Beacon Hills for an unspecified period of time during which any wrong move may send us all to an early grave.” 

“Well if you're looking at it like that, Derek, it's no wonder you're such a delight to be around in times of crises.” 

“See you home soon,” he said instead of fighting, waiting to hear Stiles' chipper 'love you, too' before hanging up. 

“Can I not be here for this?” Cora asked, only a little serious. 

“Pretty sure the studio in New York might be between tenants.” Derek dropped onto the couch next to her, soaking up pack and peace while he still could. 

“And miss all the exciting bloodshed and subterfuge?” Erica wandered in, eavesdropping like all his betas did because he had set a terrible, terrible example. 

“Where's everyone else?” Derek turned on the couch, leaning on Cora's shoulder and swinging his feet up before Erica got any ideas about cuddling up to him. She was wearing her spiky, studded, and bejeweled corset and skinny jeans today and he really didn't want another bejeweled knee to the crotch. 

“Somewhere else,” Erica snarked back, dropping into the wing-back chair to the left of the couch and swinging so her feet dangled over the arm of the chair, spiked heels glinting in the light. “Allison and Stiles are at the Sheriff's station, Scott's with his dad, Isaac and Boyd are doing a perimeter check, and Jackson is with Danny hopefully getting some valuable info about our hunter friends.” 

“And Peter reported in an hour ago to Lydia,” Cora added, waving her phone over Derek's face. “Can we go now?” 

“We're just warning them about the increase in hunters in the area. That is all.” Derek liked this new activity. His mother had tried so hard to keep peaceful lines of communication with other supernaturals while in power, but after the pack died and he and Laura left, those peaceful lines fell apart. He'd made some headway repairing what he could, working with Scott to fix what he alone couldn't, and it was working, though only time would tell any improvements. 

“Hmm. Warning uppity witches and warlocks and all those nervous little sylphs not to stand out, sounds like my kind job.” Erica smiled at him, all teeth and danger. 

“What a coincidence, me too,” Cora muttered, flashing a smirk that didn't need to show any teeth to be just as nasty. 

Derek sighed and they laughed at him. 

“Right. Let's go.” He hauled Cora up with him and gestured to Erica. She wrapped her arms around his left arm and squeezed. 

Three days later, the hunters were in town. One of the deputies on patrol noticed suspicious, new residents at the local skeevy hotel. Immediately, Allison and Chris were headed over to meet and greet. With the information filtering in through legal means, none of these hunters were directly involved in Koryfi's kidnapping, and after a surreptitious check with Danny, all of the hunters were absolutely involved yet lacked any paper trail to prove it. 

Koryfi wasn't able to confirm any of them through camera footage, because the hunters had primarily let Melanie and the doctor handle her, often taking her from the site after the monster of the week was within a mountain ash perimeter. The skinwalker boy had been the closest she'd come to what they were doing.

“I'm sorry I can't help you more.” She was staying in the hospital, a private care room that Melissa checked in on before and after her shift. 

“You're doing enough,” Derek said, bracing his hands on the arms of the chair by her bed. “The Sheriff will take care of what he can and my pack will do the rest.” 

“Can I stay here?” She asked, shaking her head when he frowned. “In Beacon Hills, after this is all over. I know that's pretty much telling the hunters where we are, but I can't go back home, either.” 

“You don't need to be too afraid to go back,” Derek stretched out a hand, letting her twine her fingers with his, and drained some of the pain from her. “I know what it's like to run. To think all you can do is run and hope they don't catch you.” 

“Aubrey was all I had.” Her voice is soft, brimming with pain he couldn't pull from her. She brushed her hair aside, jostling her IVs and clenching Derek's hand tighter. “When naiads leave their namesakes, they need a new tether, something to anchor our powers. Aubrey's land had a lake, just a little one, and I bound myself to it. That broke when they killed her. I need a new tether.” 

“You're welcome to stay,” Derek said, bringing his other hand up to tap at her wrist to get her to meet his eyes. “And you're welcome to leave. Any time you want.” 

“Thank you, Alpha Hale.” She brought their clasped hands to her lips, pressing a cool kiss on the back of his hand. 

“What do you need to anchor here?” 

“Blood from you and the other alpha and a cup of water from the lake, in a silver cup if you have one, or a glass one if you don't, but then I'd also need a few drops of horse blood.” She grimaced. “And I can do it here at any time.” 

“I'll see what we can do,” Derek promised.

Boyd brought him what they needed, Scott following his mother in as she checked on Koryfi's vitals. The silver cup from Deaton, which passed to Stiles' ownership after allying to Derek as well as Scott, and water from Hale land. He and Scott bleed into the cup, the red fading into nothing as Koryfi cradled it and drained the cup in one motion, everything suddenly smelling like salt water and damp moss as her whole body flickered, crystalline and shimmering, then solidifying. 

“Thank you,” she said as Melissa muted the screaming heart monitor. Derek nodded, taking the cup and passing it back to Boyd and let her take his hand again, kissing the back. She smiled at him, more light in her pale eyes than he'd seen before, and he hoped this would last. 

The Sheriff arrested three of the hunters for unlicensed firearms, trespassing into Hale land with those unlicensed firearms, and possessing fraudulent US Marshall identifications. There were only four to watch out for after two left late one night following one last visit from Chris Argent. Stiles told him the Logan PD and the FBI arrested Melanie Wesson and the doctor, and whatever hunters who'd been part of their unit had scattered and the chances were low of them coming to Beacon Hills with warrants trailing after them. 

It was justice that they had to live with, because there was no secret hunter council to punish their own. The fact was that there were still four hunters, with no illegal weaponry or history of charges, all waiting for just one lucky chance, because there was no doubt they'd identified most of the Hale Pack, if not everyone but Allison and Stiles. 

“They're not going to leave,” Isaac said, hand trailing on the window ledge, darting looks at Derek from the corner of his eye.

“We can't kill them.” Derek's hands twitched, claws itching at the tips of his fingers.

“We can't let them kill us. Kill more like us,” Isaac argued back, dropping his pretense and edging into Derek's sight, away from the window and the sight of Stiles carving wards into the trees at the property line. Peter was watching him, near enough to get Stiles back to the house in an emergency. 

“If they attack us, we send them to the Sheriff.” Derek made his voice firm, despite the urge he had that echoed Isaac's. That need to do absolutely anything to protect the pack, even if it meant killing for them. 

“If they attack us, they'll be trying to kill us. All of us.” Isaac sighed and Derek grabbed his shoulder, grip as tight as he could without permanent injury. Isaac leaned into it, distress and fear flooding Derek's senses and the bond he could feel between all the werewolves in his pack, Scott an echo at the very edge. 

“We'll live.” His voice shook, just a little bit, but the odds were better now than they were before. “Even Peter.” 

Isaac laughed, stepping into Derek's space for a quick hug, comfort and scent sharing in one short maneuver. 

Derek was on patrol with Boyd when the hunters attacked the pack house. They ran emergency drills as to why it would be a bad idea to howl for help, why cell phones were so much better in that situation, and the fact that the rest of the pack listened meant so much to him. Boyd's phone rang just seconds after Derek's, Erica sounding steadier than Stiles. 

“They've separated us. Scott's on his way with Cora, but it's just me, Erica, and Isaac. I don't know where Peter and Jackson are. Isaac called my dad, I think he's bringing in-the-know officers, but please. Hurry.” Stiles sounded out of breath, and he could hear Isaac and Erica, Erica in stereo through Boyd's phone. 

“We're nearly there. Get safe.” He hung up, shedding his jacket and shirt as he pulled more of the Alpha to the surface. The hair on his arms thickened into fur, claws spouting, mouth extending into a muzzle. He wasn't fully wolf, but he was monstrous enough, the Alpha shift blurring man and wolf into an apex predator. The chances of the hunters running into an alpha, a truly strong alpha with a pack, might be low enough that his shape would scare them into messing up. 

Boyd shifted, running after him, keeping pace just behind his right shoulder, where Erica would run as his second. “They'll be fine.” 

Derek huffed, snout shape not accommodating human language easily. He could hear Erica and Isaac snarling, gun shots echoing back before a painfully high sound drowned everything out. 

He crashed through the trees and right into one of the hunters, the high-frequency device smothering the sound of his pack the closer he got to the man. There was one more shooting at Erica and Isaac, Stiles somewhere nearby but Derek couldn't hear him over the noise. He snarled, tackling the hunter and knocking the gun from his hand as they hit the ground. 

“Fucking Alpha!” The hunter yelled at him, other hand going for a knife and stabbing it into Derek's stomach. 

He grabbed the man's arm, dislocating it as he forced it back and up in the narrow space between them. The man was bucking under him, kicking at Derek's thighs with his knees, and screamed when Derek dislocated his shoulder. He could hear Boyd and Erica restraining the other hunter, forcing him to the ground and wrestling the guns off him. The hunter under Derek went still, the high-pitched device reaching near painful levels.

“Isaac! We need to turn it off.” Erica shouted, the hunter between her and Boyd knocking back into Boyd's chest as he tried to pull his arms from Erica's grip. Isaac started patting him down, face contorted in pain. 

Derek bared his teeth at the man under him, huffing hot breath across the man's face. Derek could smell the fear, the terror of being trapped under a monster that could rip you apart and wanted to. 

“Here!” Stiles shouted, darting from behind Derek and dropping to his knees at his side. “I've got it!” He pulled a small device from the man's pocket and flicked a switch, abruptly cutting off the sound. Derek's ears pulsed in pain, a soft whine wanting to work out, but he swallowed it down. 

“There's two more, probably with Peter and Jackson.” Isaac tossed the weapons he'd found towards the trees, the empty gun cartridges scattered at their feet. “We got these two to follow us and waste their bullets. I didn't see where the other two went.” 

“Call Scott. He was coming.” Stiles pulled the knife from Derek's stomach, grimacing at the fresh blood on the blade. “Derek, are you okay? Was it poisoned?” 

He shook his head, feeling the wound already closing, leaving just drying blood and its stench on his fur. Stiles threw the knife into the bushes, eyes on the ground and scanning. 

“There was a gun over here. Derek, can you see-” 

There was a soft metallic sound, the familiar quiet avalanche of tragedy that Derek wouldn't have heard as a beta, not without the Alpha shift. Derek lunged, letting go of the hunter underneath him and tackling Stiles to the ground as a bullet dug into his upper back, under his right shoulder blade and burning the howl out of him. He collapsed over Stiles, whining high in his throat as he felt Stiles scramble out from under him. 

“Derek!” 

“Scott!” Isaac shouted, Scott appearing in front of Derek and then jumping out of his sight, presumably taking out the third hunter who'd snuck up on them while the device had been on. 

“God, Derek, shift back, I need to see it!” Stiles was running hands over his back, flinching as Derek whined again when he pressed on the wound. 

He tried. He pulled it back, the alpha skin, but he couldn't pull back completely. He was mostly human-shaped again, just enough to expose the bullet wound in his back. “Wolfsbane. Need a bullet.” 

“Scott! Gun!” Stiles grabbed his right shoulder, exerting just enough pressure that Derek knew he shouldn't move. 

“Here.” Scott moved to Derek's other side, laying a hand on his left shoulder and draining some of the pain, sucking in a breath between clenched teeth. “Cora's leading the Sheriff here.” 

“I've got Jackson on the phone. They've got the other hunter restrained.” Erica crouched in front of him, one arm on the hunter Derek had pinned earlier. 

Stiles ejected the clip, tossing the gun away. “No. There's no more bullets here. Isaac, check him.” 

Derek gritted his teeth, even as Scott pulled the edge off the pain. His lung was collapsing. He spat out the sudden mouthful of blackened blood and gasped for a breath that wouldn't fill his lungs. 

“I'm not finding anything. No extra wolfsbane.” Isaac sounded panicked, the hunter hissing profanities and slurs even as Isaac cuffed a hand over his mouth. “Shit. Shit!” 

“Check all of them!” Stiles clenched his shoulder even tighter. 

“Scott, help me up.” Derek groaned, reaching for Scott with his left hand. 

“Don't get up, Derek. What if it makes it worse? You're already throwing up blood.” Stiles helped him up anyway, easing Derek into Scott's side as they pulled him into a sitting position. 

“There's nothing here.” Erica placed her free hand on Derek's shoulder, leeching a little more pain. Derek could take a deeper breath, but he was sure the bullet was lodged in his lung and he was going to die. 

“Deaton, then. We have all kinds of wolfsbane at the house. What were they using?” Stiles laced his fingers with Derek's right hand, pressing his face to Derek's shoulder. 

“Derek? How bad is it?” Scott asked, arms laced with dark veins as he pulled Derek's pain into his body, eyes burning red and stirring Derek's instinct to fight, to not let another alpha so close while he was wounded. 

“Hard to breathe. Not long.” He spat out another mouthful of black blood on the ground. He could taste the wolfsbane, the infection and rot in his blood. His stomach roiled and he choked out tissue and blood, breath bubbling and catching in his throat. 

“Cora's nearly here. Jackson and Peter are with the other hunter. Checking him for wolfsbane bullets now.” Erica was on the phone, trying to stay calm even as sharp fear flooded the pack bond. 

“You're going to be fine. You will.” Stiles breathed into his skin, fingers shaking. 

“Yes,” Derek agreed, hoping that he was telling the truth at the same time he was making peace with the lie. 

“They've got one!” Erica shouted, eyes burning beta gold in excitement. “Bring it now!” 

Derek coughed up more blood, whining in his throat as he panted, not able to catch a breath. His vision went gray at the edges, his hearing muffled. He lost track of everyone, the overly warm hands on his body fading out and then suddenly back in as Scott drained another wave of pain.

“-erek! Derek!” Stiles sounded raw, terror and pain and grief so heavy Derek could feel it pressing into him. As much as he wanted to reassure him, he didn't have the coordination or energy to offer anything. 

“-five minutes out-” 

“-an you hear me?!” 

“-through this-” 

Derek faded out again, head slumping forward as he slipped unconscious. Everything was dark. Heavy. Cold. He wanted to move and when he couldn't, fear swallowed him up. Fear and darkness and he couldn't move and he needed to-

He woke up in a complete panic, transformation taking over him until he was in his beta-shape and snarling. Scott and Stiles at his sides, the betas and Peter behind him, and John right in front of him, staring. 

“Derek!” Stiles grabbed his face, fingers running through the fur-like hair and over his teeth. “Fuck, Derek, you scared me.” 

“I'm alright.” Everyone stank like fear and misery and tears. The panic in his chest settled as he wrapped his arms around Stiles and hugged him hard, burying his nose in the crook of Stiles' neck, breathing in his relief. “I'm okay, Stiles.” 

“We've got them,” John assured once Derek pulled back from Stiles. “Erica and Jackson can come with me to file the reports. Get home.” 

Derek nodded, hoping John realized how grateful he was right then, to wrap himself up in the pack. Scott helped him up, Stiles never letting him go for a second, and everyone else touched him as they passed, even Peter brushing a hand on his shoulder, as they made their way back to the Pack House.

Derek kept Stiles close, leaning on Scott when he had trouble balancing. “Everyone else alright? No trouble?” 

“Ours had a high-frequency noise emitter, that's why we lost track of that third one,” Peter said after a moment of silence. “They set off some flares to disorient our sight and smell. He must have back-tracked to the others once he realized they'd stopped shooting.” 

“No one else got hurt?” Derek asked, just to check. 

“Just you.” Stiles' voice was thick with grief and anger, still shaking even as Derek took a few deep breaths and soothed Stiles as much as he could. 

“Figures.” He summoned the energy for a small smirk, even though he still felt absolutely horrible. 

Some of the tension dissipated, then even more once the house came in sight and Deaton was waiting on the porch. “Welcome back.” 

“You need to look at Derek. He got shot and there weren't anymore bullets from that clip and we made do with some other stuff, but it's still black and nasty looking even though we did everything we should have,” Stiles barely took a breath and he was anxiously twitching at Derek's side. 

“I'll look at it,” Deaton reassured, eyes darting over Derek's face and then Scott and the pack. “He's the only one?” 

“Yes. Hunter surprised us.” Isaac sounded tired. Even more so than anyone had after dealing with the Rocs. Derek figured that giant, ferocious birds with talons like iron and wings like blades trumped hunters most days of the week, but a near death scare was a step too far. 

Scott and Stiles helped Derek back to the master bedroom, Deaton trailing in their wake with his bag. They eased Derek onto the bed, stretching him out on his stomach so Deaton could look at the bullet wound that was still pulsing in faint pain. 

“The cure didn't come from the same clip?” Deaton asked, running a finger around the edge of the wound. He clicked on a pen light and dug out the bullet remnants, swabbing the inside. Derek hissed, fur rippling over his shoulders and settling down when Stiles soothed him.

“Yes.” Stiles sat on the edge of the bed, near enough that he didn't have to let go of Derek's hand. Scott came to Stiles' side and clasped a hand across the back of his neck. Stiles eased into it. 

“From what I can see, the hunters were smart enough to mix different strains into separate clips then. There's still some of the common strain to heal, but it's not effective. Imagine trying to cure a rattlesnake bite with cottonmouth venom. It's in a sensitive location, so near to the heart, that more wolfsbane is only going to exacerbate his condition.” Deaton pulled a jar from his bag and began to rub the paste into Derek's back. “This should accelerate his healing. He might still experience some disorientation, some weakness in general, but he'll recover.” 

“Thanks.” Derek sighed as the paste sank into his skin, a cooling sensation in counterpoint to the pain. 

“He'll be fine?” 

“Yes, Stiles.” Deaton handed over the jar. “Reapply every four hours over the wound. I can't say how long it should take exactly, but continue to use it until the pain dissipates. A wound so deep, into his lung, I imagine that it'll be some time regardless.” 

“Thank you,” Stiles whispered, leaning back into Scott as he hugged him hard. 

“Everything's gonna be fine. Dr. Deaton, I'll walk you out,” Scott offered, holding the door open for Deaton as he closed his bag and left. “Stiles, try to get some sleep. Derek. Get better.” 

“Night, Scott. Can you-” 

“I've got it, dude. Don't worry.” Scott flashed them a smile, shutting the door behind him as he left. 

“God.” Stiles sighed, placing the jar on the night stand and reaching out to brush some of the hair out of Derek's face. “Derek.” 

“Help me out of my jeans and get in here. Scott's got it,” Derek said, immediately forestalling any other concerns. “Please.” 

Stiles didn't say anything, just got to his feet, letting go of Derek's hand, and reaching under his hips for the fly of his jeans. With some wiggling, Stiles got them off and ran his hands lightly over the back of his bare legs. 

“Stiles. Get in here. Please.” Derek let his eyes shine red and showed just how much he needed Stiles with him right then. 

“Yeah.” He shrugged out of his own clothes, letting them drop on the floor with Derek's jeans, and climbed onto the bed until he could tuck into Derek's side. 

Derek draped his arm over Stiles' waist, rumbled deep in his chest when Stiles petted at his bare skin, running from shoulder and down until it was just the pads of his fingers brushing Derek's thighs. Derek fell asleep between one breath and the next, still feeling Stiles' caresses as he slipped under. 

It was dark when he woke up, Stiles quietly massaging Deaton's paste into his back. “Hmmm. Stiles?” 

“Hey?” His voice was heavy with tears and Derek felt more awake instantly, rising up on his forearms to look over at Stiles. “How you feeling?” 

“I'm fine, Stiles. Hey, hey, come here.” He reached out a hand, but Stiles pushed it away. 

“Let me finish this first, alright?” He placed the jar back on the night stand, running a still slick finger around the edge of the wound. “I can still see black veins.” 

“I can't feel it as much anymore.” Derek grabbed his arm, pulling him down and rolling Stiles a bit so he was stretched out on his back under Derek, head on a pillow. “Stiles, what's wrong?” 

“Seriously, Derek?” Stiles' mouth tightened, pain and grief on his skin and in his eyes. “You nearly fucking died. You jumped in front of some stupid hunter taking potshots at me and you nearly fucking died.” 

“Stiles-” 

“What the hell were you thinking?! He almost killed you.” Stiles' arms went around his neck, pulling him down hard, and Derek could smell tears. “You almost died. Right in front of me. God, Derek. What the hell would I do without you?”

Derek pressed down into him, grabbing Stiles' hip and rolling onto his side. Stiles followed limply, crying into Derek's neck until he'd exhausted himself and fell asleep. Derek placed Stiles' hand against his throat, fingers over his pulse so he'd know for sure, and stayed awake until dawn light started creeping in the window. 

Derek couldn't hear the rest of the pack when he woke up again. He could feel that they were all fine, the pack bond humming with contentment. Stiles was still sleeping, face washed out from crying but otherwise looking fine. Derek didn't feel like moving,enjoying the feel of Stiles pressed against him and listening to his heartbeat. 

Stiles twitched just before waking, fingers fluttering on Derek's neck and a line of tension running down his spine before he relaxed. “Hey, morning. Feeling?” 

“Good. Tired but good.” 

“Hmm. Good.” Stiles rolled out of bed, checking his phone and heading for the closet and dresser. “We need to reapply that in another half-hour. I'm getting a shower. Try to rest.”

He was closing the shower door in the bathroom before Derek sat up, the adjoining door cracked open. He groaned once and fell back onto the mattress, listening to Stiles' racing heart and the shower. He fell asleep, waking just long enough to roll onto his belly at Stiles' insistence, but he was out again right after, dreams filled with the wolf, running to a golden-red light among the trees that he never caught. 

The next time he woke up, Stiles wasn't in the room. He pulled away from the wet spot on his pillow by his mouth, leaning up and wiping his face with the back of his hand. Derek could hear the blender in the kitchen running, a skillet spitting grease, and the quiet murmur of the radio. He got out of bed, grabbing sweatpants and ducking into the bathroom for a quick shower. He washed the faint smell of blood away, covering it in the fresh rain-scented body wash Stiles preferred instead of the unscented soaps he normally used.

He looked at the bullet wound in the mirror while he toweled his hair dry, the faint mark still bruised and pulsing, but it was a weak pain that he could ignore. He was surprised that none of the pack had made their ways over yet, but just as happy to have Stiles to himself. 

“Morning.” He pressed up to Stiles' back, dropping his chin onto his shoulder and tangling his arms around Stiles' waist. Stiles leaned back into him, using a spatula to flip pancakes and prod bacon. 

“Morning. How are you feeling?” 

“Good. Better.” He sniffed, running his nose up the slope of Stiles' shoulder to the hollow of his neck, just behind his ear. “You're still upset, though.” 

“Yeah, it happens when you almost die.” He was curt, cold and cutting despite the shaking and firm grip he had on Derek's wrist.

“It's not the first time. Everything worked out.” 

“I don't think you understand just how fucking-” Stiles cut himself off, sighing and turning to place a kiss on Derek's cheek. “You're alright?” 

“Hungry.” Derek looked over his shoulder to the stove. “And you're burning everything.” 

“Shit!” Stiles pushed him back, lifting the bacon pan off the heat and scooping strips on bacon off and onto a paper-towel-covered plate. The edges were crispier than he usually liked, more casualties in the on-going battle to keep bacon from being burned to Stiles' preferred charcoal. “Almost done, so go sit.” 

Derek ignored that, grabbing a glass off the counter and pouring the health shake mix Stiles normally refused on principle to supply, because Derek came by his muscle mass supernaturally and he was fooling himself with the South Beach diet bullshit. The lack of muesli, sausage-and-egg burritos, and vegemite were warning signs. Stiles wasn't usually so good-natured to concede his disgusting breakfast habits without also criticizing Derek's. 

“Expecting company?” Derek asked as he looked over the spread. Other than the pancakes and bacon, Stiles made scrambled eggs, half a loaf of toast, hashbrown casserole, a fruit salad, and stacked all their boxes of sugary cereal along the counter. 

“You're always starving after shifting. And you were shot.” Stiles placed the bacon on the counter, snagging one of the burned strips and stuffing it in his mouth. “Tell me honestly you're not going to eat all of this.” 

“Shut up.” He pulled the bacon plate closer, eating two strips at once and licking the grease off his fingers. 

“Use a plate, wolf-man.” Stiles turned away, back to the pancakes. Derek watched him as he tipped half the plate onto his own and started to shovel helpings from everything else too, leaving a dry bowl of Fruity Pebbles at his elbow. 

“Thanks,” he said after swallowing a mouthful of eggs. Stiles shrugged, buttering the last of the pancakes and turning off the stove. “You gonna eat?” 

“Not hungry. So help yourself.” Stiles placed the pancakes in front of Derek's plate, grabbing a bowl of strawberries and spooning them on top. “Syrup or whipped cream?” 

“Both.” Derek took another drink of his smoothie, eyebrows furrowing as Stiles opened the fridge and pantry, setting out the spray can of whipped cream and the bottle of maple syrup. He poured himself some coffee and settled against the sink, eyes fixed on the counter. “Stiles?” 

“Scott called earlier while you were sleeping. The hunters've been arrested for assault and attempted murder. Trespassing. Whatever else dad can pin on them. Koryfi's going to be discharged in another day or two, they're clearing up that mess in Logan and want her to see a state-certified psychiatrist to assess the paranoid schizophrenia thing, and-” 

“Stiles. Come here, please.” Derek reached out, as far over the counter as he could, and Stiles raised his eyes to look at it and stare. “Please.” 

“Are you hurting? Not feeling right?” He placed down the cup of coffee, phone in hand and unlocking it without looking. “I can call Deaton, have him come back-” 

“I need you to get over here. Now,” he said when asking didn't move Stiles. Immediately, Stiles was at his side, skirting behind him to prod at the bullet wound and hiss in sympathetic pain. Derek growled and twisted on the bar stool, pulling Stiles between his thighs and locking his arms around his waist. Stiles froze. “I need you to tell me what's wrong. Because you're icing me out. And I can't do that with you.” 

“Derek.” Stiles slumped in his arms, fingers tangling into Derek's hair and covering his heart. “You almost died. Did you get that? You actually stopped breathing. Scott couldn't hear your heartbeat for like a full minute. The betas freaked the hell out. And I couldn't even think.” 

“Stiles-” 

“Some random hunter flunky nearly killed you because he got lucky.” Stiles was too exhausted to cry, breathing hard and uneven and digging his chin into Derek's neck. 

“I didn't die,” he reassured, running a hand up and down Stiles back. “I needed to protect you, I won't regret doing that, but I'm sorry for scaring you so badly.” 

“You didn't scare me, Derek. Losing you scared me.” He heard Stiles swallow hard, his voice thick with grief, past and raw. “My dad crawled down a bottle because he couldn't get over losing mom. I'd do worse if I lost you. I know. I knew last night when your heart stopped and I- I just looked up and saw Peter and I was going to do whatever it would take to rip his secrets out and get you back.” 

“Shit, Stiles.” He leaned forward until he could rub his chin and cheek against Stiles' temple and kiss away tension. He closed his eyes when he felt tears welling up and burning the corners of his eyes. 

“I would have done anything to get you back. That's what scares me. Because I can make all the promises to live on, to be happy you 'd want me to make, but -” Stiles drew a deep breath, scratching his fingers across Derek's neck. “I don't have good coping skills. I can't lose you, too. I won't be all of me if I lost you.”

“You get that that's the same for me? I've lost a lot. I didn't want to die. But I didn't want to be me without you,” Derek whispered into his ear, dropping a hand to cradle underneath Stiles' ass and thighs and hauling him up. Stiles wrapped his legs around Derek's waist and let him carry him back upstairs to their bedroom. Derek laid out on the mattress and pulled Stiles over him, close. 

“I know that! I didn't think about it so much before. It was just normal people this time. Another Alpha Pack? Another hydra? Jesus, Derek, I don't know how to do this without you anymore. You were dying and I was staring at a life like my Dad's.” Stiles shook, a heaving sob forcing its way out. “You were bleeding out and your heart stopped. I couldn't do anything! I couldn't- It's like you were this huge part of me just gone and I felt hollow. I got stuck in my head and Scott had to resuscitate you!” 

“I'm sorry, Stiles. God, I'm so sorry.” Derek let himself cry, hide his eyes in Stiles' neck and let his tears fall, with only Stiles to witness, to know. “But I had to. I can't regret doing it, but I'm so sorry.” 

“Damn it, Derek-” Stiles' breathing was uneven, a hitch in his breath and heartbeat that worried him, signs of a possible panic attack coming. He always, always tried to catch them before they happened if he could, because he couldn't help Stiles through it, couldn't drag him out of his head like Scott could. The idea of causing one made him nauseous. 

“I lived. I'm fine. It would have killed you,” he said. “Getting shot through the lung would have killed you. With a wolfsbane bullet? Not even the bite would have saved you.” Derek tightened his arms as the panic from last night washed over him. “I love you and I need you here for me. You're the entire world sometimes, Stiles. You're the only thing I have in life I don't feel guilty over.” 

He hadn't thought beyond protecting Stiles. He'd been hurt in worse ways, maimed and hamstrung protecting the pack, and Stiles wasn't usually the one he would be pushing aside. Stiles wasn't in the front line against hunters and would always be their defense and stronghold against other supernaturals. He'd step up when he was needed, but when there was an entire pack who couldn't hold a candle to him in wards and resourcefulness, they kept him where he was needed. Derek moved because he had to, he couldn't have done anything else, because no world would be happy or good without Stiles, and he'd rather live with having tried, having done everything he could to keep Stiles alive than anything less. 

Stiles sobbed, low and ugly and so fucking pained that it was all he could do to hug Stiles close and bury his nose in Stiles' throat, listen to his heartbeat, smell the tears. 

“I promise I'm going to try, not be so reckless, but I'll die to keep you here, Stiles, and I can't tell you otherwise, not even in a lie.” 

“I need you here, too. I need you here,” Stiles whispered between raspy breaths. 

Derek was tired and emotionally drained and Stiles looked like he was never going to stop crying. He held Stiles until he cried himself to sleep, reaching for Derek's hand and squeezing so hard, pressed so tightly over Derek's heart that he was sure it would bruise. Derek watched him sleep, kissed at the tear tracks, and closed his eyes so Stiles was the only thing in the world to focus on. 

The next day was better. Things weren't as tense, but Stiles still got this look in his eye like he was waiting for something bad to happen again. Derek tried to smile a bit more, relax more around the pack, be more genuine when they visited Koryfi and checked in with John. They stopped by Deaton's for an evaluation and another jar of paste for Derek's back before heading back to the house. 

Koryfi moved in with Cora to a loft in a renovated warehouse outside of Beacon Hills which she bought for herself after spending one night in the Pack House. There were sectioned rooms upstairs, and the wall of windows didn't extend upstairs so there was plenty of privacy. Tatiana the psychic had packed Koryfi's things for her with some help from Koryfi's neighbors and Derek paid for a truck to bring it all down. When the Pack helped her move in, Koryfi took him aside and presented him with a thank you gift.

“It's a blessing,” Koryfi explained as she handed over the vial of water. The blue glass almost glowed in the moderate light of the apartment. “In times of fear, hold it near your heart and it can calm. In times of danger, open it and it can protect.”

“Thank you.” Derek held the bottle up to the light and Koryfi's hand closed over his. She threaded their fingers together and the water began to glow. 

“A light when all other lights go out,” she smiled when he laughed and the light faded as she withdrew her hand. “I was inspired. Aubrey loved those movies, and especially the elves.”

“I kinda loved the hobbits, to be honest.” Derek slipped the bottle into his pants pocket. 

“Eowyn. And Gimli,” Cora admitted, hand going to Koryfi's arm and then sliding down to close their hands together. “Speaking of, have you seen Legolas?” 

“She's with Danny and Isaac in the kitchen.” Derek nodded behind them and Cora gave him a tight smile. 

“I'm introducing her to everyone formally. Since she's not in the hospital or running for her life.” Cora pulled her away and Derek watched them go.

Things were better once everything was settled, though not completely normal. Derek noticed that Stiles would sit and watch him, quiet and solemn, and Derek had no idea what to do, how to bring back the Stiles he was with before everything, the one who smiled soft and sure with him in the bath and kissed him at Laura's graveside. Derek would kiss him, sweet and warm, when he caught that look on Stiles' face, regardless of who they were with or what they were doing at the time. 

Stiles eventually stopped looking sad and solemn. Whether he'd accepted what Derek had said, processed how he fully felt about the situation, or just decided to ignore it, Derek hadn't been sure. Nothing had changed elsewhere, in bed or with the pack, and they didn't talk about it again. The pack didn't act differently with either of them, after the first initial burst where they'd needed some reassurance, and Scott hadn't sat him down and tried to talk about his and Stiles' relationship so Derek relaxed.

It was a pack training day, where everyone showed up to participate in a run around the territory lines. Derek and Scott shifted to full alpha forms, Derek a darker and broader direwolf to Scott's lean and lanky self. It felt like running with Laura, felt like that every time he ran with Scott as a wolf, because his coat, his assurance, his open expressions as a wolf, those were all Laura's best traits that Derek didn't have. They made it back to the pack house, Stiles leaping from the porch to wrestle with Derek, laughing brightly when Derek pinned him and mock growled. 

“Holy shit. I'll never get over this face. And your fluffy, little tail. Who's the cutie? You're the cutie! Pack superlatives – Most Adorable: Studly McHuggalumps,” Stiles christened. “No contenders, so choke on that.”

Derek let his tongue loll out, head tilted and ears perked up, just to hear Stiles' delight. He squirmed under the attention, wagging his tail hurriedly and mocking a play bow despite being crouched over Stiles. He lifted his lips over Stiles' shoulder when he latched his arms around Derek's neck, because he could hear Jackson's whispers and he had easily two inch fangs in his mouth that could rip the smug right out of him. Stiles didn't miss a thing, just smacked his lips audibly on Derek's wet nose, and raced into the house, Derek slipping from the Alpha's skin when he finally tackled Stiles onto the bed.

“Get the fuck out of here!” he bellowed, happiness in the pack bond and the laughter in his voice undercutting the harsh words. “We're about to make passionate love!” 

“Oh, take me, Alpha Hale! Put your huge wolfy member in my love channel!” Stiles swooned, laughing even though only Derek could hear the fake vomiting and screams from the pack. Stiles kissed him hungrily, with tongue and teeth, until they were both hard and aching. Derek caught Stiles' arms over his head, knees bracketing his hips, slowly rubbing his crotch against Stiles'. Stiles arched on a groan and squirmed, trying to get free to touch, but Derek kept him in place to enjoy as he saw fit. 

Stiles grit his teeth, eyes sharp and pupils blown, and flexed, legs coming up to encircle his hips and flipped them. Derek went down, left side near the edge of the bed, hands still around Stiles' wrists. Stiles sat in the cradle of his hips and smiled tauntingly and full of teeth. His eyes were blown, brown and dark and possessive.

“We've never really talked about the werewolf thing, Derek, and that is a serious mistake.” 

Stiles ground down, slow and easy, until they were pressed together. Derek wasn't sure if Stiles was talking about the fact he had more strength, more stamina, or a serious scent kink, but it really didn't matter. 

Derek let his eyes flash, so careful and in control, because he never shifted with any partner. He was trained to be in control and Stiles was so achingly fragile compared to him that even those parts of him that felt more primal wanted to wrap him up in that strength and hold. 

Stiles twitched on his lap, like seeing those red eyes had struck him right in his cock, and Derek slowly realized that, for all intents and purposes, it had. Stiles never seemed to fear the wolf he could see or the instincts that he couldn't, but he'd never really expressed an interest in having any intimacy with those pieces. Which Derek understood, because he was always a werewolf, even when he was wearing human skin, and any flashes of the wolf Stiles saw were always deliberate, intentional. Stiles never asked to see it outside of life or death situations and pack training. That Stiles obviously wanted to see it now was partly surprising, partly aching. 

Stiles peeked at his face through his lashes and tilted his head questioningly. “Hey? C'mon, Derek, show me your fangs. Get your Wolfman on.” 

Derek let his other face rise up, sharp fangs piercing his lips and carefully adjusting claws around Stiles' wrists. Stiles watched the change, heartbeat audibly rising, the pulse at his throat kicking up furiously, as Derek's features sharpened. Smells seemed sharper in beta-form, though there was no measurable change; Lydia had studies done. He could nearly taste Stiles' arousal, it was so heavy in the air. He let his features slacken, curling his lips into a small smile instead of a snarl. 

“Have you ever-” 

Derek shook his head. Stiles' eyebrows shot up, surprise across his face. 

“Not with-” 

“No.” Derek's voice seemed heavier with this face, always a breath away from a growl, that he had to make an effort to keep it even. 

Stiles bit his lip and said, “How far do you want to go? I've seen this face pretty often, dude, even if you don't stay still long enough for me to kiss it. You've got that other cute face, too, you know? The fluffy wolfy one?” 

Derek honestly had no idea Stiles would ever want that, that he'd ever want that, but putting it out there meant they couldn't take it away, couldn't forget what Stiles offered to him. Stiles swallowed and tried to smile at whatever he could see on this face. 

“You'd still be you, Derek, and I love all of you, even the wolf. It's still you in there, watching me, doing this with me. You'd be so good at it, already are so good at it, so in control even when-” Stiles' breathing hitched and Derek understood then. 

That was the shape he was wearing as he died, and that was the face that Stiles was going to lose, and even if it was not the face he saw most days, it was still Derek's face. All three faces were Derek. So Stiles could love, give himself, to all those faces, because it would always be Derek beneath them. 

“Yeah.” Derek breathed out, drawing in Stiles' scent, his heartbeat. “Yeah, we can try that.”

The logistics of how they'd even try doing it were vague and underdeveloped, but Derek wanted Stiles to have whatever pieces of himself Stiles wanted. If he wanted the wolf shape, even both wolf shapes, all he had to do was ask. Derek wasn't self-conscious about how he looked in any shape he was in, but partly self-conscious about how others reacted to those faces. He knew he was fully in control no matter what, but others seemed to forget that when he was in the full Alpha form. 

“We don't have to try right this second, you know? If you wanna talk it through, we can talk. Pretty sure I could talk about it forever.” 

“We're doing this now. You want it, yeah?” 

“God, yes!” Stiles writhed under him, like prey he'd taken down, like a mate squirming to be mounted. 

“Then let me give it to you.” Derek wanted to give him something, something no one else ever had, ever even wanted. 

Derek unwound his fingers from Stiles' wrists and pulled away from Stiles. He climbed to his feet beside the bed and stripped, matter of fact and tracking Stiles' reaction with all his senses. Stiles had seen the beta face and claws, but there were other changes in born wolves, like the thicker chest and pit hair, the thicker lines to his cock that meant knot, the near fur-like hair around his cock and over his balls and back on his ass. He had thicker hair on his legs, claws on his toes, and when he turned to show off his back, there were thick lines of hair down his neck and around his narrow-tipped ears. 

Stiles licked his lips and rubbed a hand over the bulge in his jeans, still watching as Derek placed a knee on the bed and prowled closer on hands and knees. He let his claws drag over Stiles' skin as he stripped his shirt, shoved off jeans, socks, shoes, leaving his boxer briefs. 

Derek grabbed Stiles' hand and dragged it to his cock, where the knot would form, and said, “I've never mated like this. If we get stuck, how long we'd be stuck, how big it would get.” 

“I can take it.” Stiles ran exploratory fingers around the skin, teasing the extra skin and pulling back his foreskin to expose the tip, dragging it back up and reaching for the knot again. Derek shuddered. “It'll swell inside, right? I plan to be so fucked out at that point, I won't even be able to remember my name, let alone feel anything but awesome.” 

“Yeah. It'll feel awesome.” He struggled to stay still, but he wanted to mount, to claim, to mark Stiles however he could. They were instincts that Derek had been controlling since he'd first hit puberty, but having a wolf mate, someone so willing to let him fulfill those instincts, it was harder than before. “I don't know if I can control myself, Stiles. It's hard sometimes to pull back, and if you need to get out, get away, I know it'll be just as hard to let you go.” 

Stiles stopped, moving his hands to Derek's chest and lingering over his shoulders. He nodded once, and Derek could see the thoughts running behind his eyes. Stiles didn't bat his concerns away, didn't give him any less than his full consideration, then slowly, obviously to not startle him, placed his hands on Derek's face, rubbing the thick hair, and said, “I'm serious, Derek. You're still the same, and I trust your instincts with this, and if I get scared, and it's a really big if, I know you'll do the right thing.”

He looked at Derek so helplessly, so trusting, Derek fought to hold his eyes and watch Stiles for any uncertainty. 

“You're exactly perfect, for me, in everything, Derek.” There was no stutter, no fear-scent, no detectable lie, there was no way what Stiles was saying wasn't anything but the truth as he believed it, and Derek used that to bolster his will, weave a net within himself around those powerful instincts and hold tight. 

“Stiles. Love you. Thank you, thank you.” Derek turned his face to kiss and nip at those fingers, letting whatever noises he wanted to make rumble out. 

Stiles sighed and wiggled under him, as he chased salt, grease, Arby's scent on Stiles' fingers. Stiles' fingers reached for his ears and curled up around the shells, and Derek lowered his head to Stiles' throat, chasing more sweat and musk with tongue and teeth. He bit and sucked bruises around his throat and down across his collarbone, letting Stiles gasp and moan and scratch down his back, leaving brilliantly red marks like a collar, like a claim.

He nosed into all the parts of Stiles that smelled strongest, tongue around his armpit until Stiles squirmed and laughed, teeth tugging and pulling on his nipples until they were puffy and red. 

“Ah!”Stiles cried out as he continued to abuse them, until the underwear Derek forgot about was damp where Stiles was leaking precome. He slipped further down, tugging the briefs off and mouthing at the smears until he was clean. Stiles lifted his legs and slid them around Derek's torso, eyes on Derek as he turned his head to the side, throat exposed. 

“Fuck, Stiles.” He lifted his teeth, leaving a sizable bruise on Stiles' hip, to chase that open invitation. 

“Derek,” Stiles gasped, eyes flying open as Derek pressed his full length against Stiles' cock and his lips parted to show teeth, head tucking down.

The legs around his waist tightened and Derek was flipped onto his back, Stiles looming over him with lips back, white teeth bright. Derek howled, with delight, with desire, with some cocktail of emotion he'd never felt so strongly before, and his claw-tipped hands grabbed Stiles' throat. 

“Shit!” Stiles yelped when the claws pressed down, fear shooting through Derek as he immediately pulled that net within tight, pulling his instincts back and surfacing completely human-shaped, when Stiles shook his head furiously, raising his hands to press blunt fingernails against his throat. “Hey, hey, I was just shocked a bit. I'm not even hurting. Don't stop, please.” 

Gently, he let the claws ease out, keeping his feral instincts drawn back, and Stiles grinned. 

“It's just the tips on my pulse. You don't want to hurt me. You're just curious and don't know how to just play.” Stiles didn't let him pull back until he relaxed. “I'm fine, Derek, but was that alright with you?” 

He didn't seem to want to squeeze, bite, or tear anymore than usual when it came to Stiles. But he'd acted without thought, reached before he knew what instinct he'd been fulfilling. He tugged his hands away from Stiles' throat. “I just reacted before I knew what I was doing. What if it's not fine next time? What if it's not just play? What if you're not alright the next time I just grab you-” 

“Derek, hey, it's alright. You didn't even press down, just touched me. And you backed off when you weren't sure I was fine, just like I knew you would. I'm not scared to keep going if you still want to, too.” Stiles shook his head and bit his lip. “Do you want to continue? What do you want, Derek?”

Derek breathed in slowly, closed his eyes, and let some of his instincts surface, keeping to the forefront of his mind that this was Stiles, this was mate, lover, world, and he felt that shift within as he re-net the instincts that still made him nervous to expose to Stiles. There was less hurry, less crushing need to smother Stiles under his scent and claim. He saw his mate and knew how Stiles looked through wolf eyes. 

What was challenge and rebellion was play and teasing. It was courtship and flirtation and taunting aimed to engage the wolf. It was the filter Derek needed to feel comfortable about continuing. He opened his eyes, letting the red burn fierce and bright, and his hands fell to Stiles' hips, rocking them against his, “Can you see how much I want you, mate, how much I love you?” 

“ Yes. All mine. All yours, too.” Stiles nodded, running hands down to cover Derek's, sinking deeper into the steady grind on Derek's lap. Derek surged upwards, locking teeth onto Stiles' shoulder and pushing him backwards, Stiles' neck and shoulders over the edge of the bed, rumbling in his chest as Stiles dug his heels into Derek's thighs. 

“Taste so good.” Derek ran his tongue over the bright red skin, abandoning one hip to wrap clawed fingers around Stiles' cock and pump. He let bristly hair and stubble drag against the skin of Stiles' throat as he chased pursed, bitten lips and coaxed them open. 

Stiles' hands darted everywhere, up his sides, across his back, skimming the top of his ass with the pads of his fingers. Derek sucked his tongue when those fingers lingered over the crack of his ass and twisted his wrist to rub Stiles' cockhead and spread the precome he was dripping. He pulled his mouth away, nipping at Stiles' jaw as higher pitched moans worked their way out of Stiles' mouth. 

“Hah, ah, Derek!” Stiles' hands were at his shoulders, nails digging in as Derek kept working him, other hand still pinning him in place so Stiles had no leverage to thrust, could just take what Derek was giving him. 

He wanted to please, so Derek pulled away from Stiles' skin and panted over him, humping his own cock against the bed and letting Stiles cinch his waist with his legs. Stiles howled as he came, head dropping back, neck arched so pretty and bruised, and Derek relaxed his grip and helped Stiles ride his orgasm out, thrusts stuttering to a halt as he dribbled out onto the mess covering Derek's hands and his own stomach. 

Derek forced his own hips still, whining deep in his throat as he held back. Stiles' hands were on his face, cupping his jaw as he flexed his core to rise up into Derek's space with a content sigh, rubbing the left side of his face against Derek's. 

“So good. That was goood-” Stiles dropped his hand to Derek's cock, slick and achingly hard, the knot just starting to fill. He whined again, eager to claim, but Derek held back because Stiles wasn't prepped, wasn't ready for it, and he wouldn't hurt Stiles when his instincts never had to consider things like lube and stretching with the mate ideal he'd been dreaming of since he figured out what his cock was for.

Stiles huffed a soft laugh into his chest, not mocking but open and delighted, and said, “Nothing to worry about. You're still so in control, Derek, so good.” 

Derek let that wash over him and fell back on the bed, bringing Stiles with him and scrambling clumsily at the nightstand drawer. Stiles leaned over him and found the lube, dropping it on Derek's stomach before fishing out one of the dildos, average length but a wider girth than Derek. It was a pack prank gift for Valentine's Day, but Stiles thanked the pack with a smirk, brandished the dildo, and asked Derek if he wanted to play with him later. The pack had left quickly after that, all but Cora and Erica who refused to leave until Stiles forked over their half of the dinner reservations for four since they obviously had other plans. 

Derek thought the knot would probably get bigger than the toy, but it would help stretch Stiles out nicely. Stiles rolled a condom on the toy, spread lube over it and his hand, then levered up on his knees to reach between his legs. Derek helped him balance and hold his ass open, the toy nestled near his own cock, as Stiles worked careful fingers within himself. 

“Gonna feel you. All of you, I just know it. I want to feel it.” Stiles had three fingers in his ass, panting open-mouthed and writhing over him, watching Derek's face with wide-open eyes. Sweat rolled down the side of his temple, past his pink-wet lips to the hollow of his throat. Derek huffed, mouth open and nose flared, resisting the urge to thrust up and dislodge Stiles. He wanted his fingers braided with Stiles' as they plunged in and out of his ass, but he couldn't keep enough control to pull back, to draw in those claws even if he'd get to sink his fingers in Stiles. 

He contented himself to offering the toy when Stiles reached for it, cupping the base with one hand and letting Stiles guide his wrist towards where he was already flushed and loosened. Stiles hissed through clenched teeth as Derek let the head of the toy creep inward, pausing as Stiles tightened his grip around his wrist. 

“Give me a second. Okay, a little more. Faster.” He edged three inches in sharply and Stiles choked back a cry. “Hold on, hold on, Derek! Mmm, yes, just there.” He let Stiles direct him, how deep, whether to thrust or pause, and listened. “I can't wait for the real thing, Derek, going to open me up so wide.” The toy was sliding easily, Stiles working his hips just as much as Derek was driving it in. 

Stiles was mostly flaccid and steadily working his way to fully hard, and Derek still hadn't come. He didn't care about that, though it was harder and harder not to be jealous that something else was buried where he wanted to be. But the toy had done it's job, and Stiles was hovering somewhere between anxious and needy as Derek let the toy fall to the bed and rolled Stiles over. He knew exactly how he wanted to be, braced over his mate and pinning him in place, and Derek wanted it, impatient when Stiles grabbed his shoulders and dug his nails in hard. 

Derek growled and forcefully turned Stiles onto his stomach, Stiles' hands scrambling from his shoulders to lock him up on his elbows. He ran the tip of his nose down Stiles' neck, his back, spreading him open with his hands and licking as thoroughly as he could over Stiles' hole. He wasn't pleased with the taste of the lube, but the warmth and texture around his tongue made it well worth the effort, and Derek let some more of himself creep forward, placing one claw-tipped paw on the flat of Stiles' back to comfort and to hold him still as Derek negotiated his new height and shape. 

“Holy shit, Derek! Tongue!” Stiles shouted in surprise as Derek's muzzle pressed into his ass, minding the fangs and stretching out his more dexterous tongue. “Oh, God. Oh my God. Derek!”

The taste of the lube was less abrasive as he slipped fully into the Alpha skin, and he could hear the thunderous sound of Stiles' heart much clearer, feel his lungs bellow under the pads of his paw. He could feel how Stiles gave and writhed and clenched as he slid his tongue as deep as he could and rippled it. Stiles' whole body just tensed as he sobbed once, fingers audibly tearing into the sheets.

Derek pulled his tongue out, huffing hot breath over the dilated hole, and drew back the Alpha because this part needed hands and caution before he even considered letting the Alpha shape back out. He fished for the lube and smeared his cock with a healthy palmful.

“Please. Please. Anything! I need you right now, please.” Stiles was shaking his head, begging for Derek. “Fuck me already!”

Derek tried to lower Stiles' hips when he arched up and back, demanding yet begging so prettily, and Derek helped Stiles spread his knees for better balance as he used one hand to guide the tip of his cock in, leaning over Stiles' back as he sunk in easily. Stiles pushed back against him until Derek was buried and still, mouthing messily at Stiles' back as he let Stiles adjust to the length and girth of his cock and the rapidly swelling knot, because Derek hadn't come yet and had watched Stiles come apart in his hands and then impale himself all the while watching Derek closely. 

The tight clench and pull of Stiles' ass on his cock had him whining, straining at the imposed net within himself, desperate to bring the Alpha back out and claim. Derek thrust once, twice, rolling his hips, and asked, “Is it good?” 

Stiles cried out so sharply, a sudden shock to the previously deep moans, and demanded, “Can't ever stop. Why did you stop? Keep going! God, Derek, need you, come on!” 

He was blatantly ignoring Derek's question or hadn't heard. Derek peppered his back with short kisses, punctuating each incremental hip thrust with a moan. “So good, Stiles. You're doing so good.” 

He dropped a hand to where Stiles was fully hard and still smeared with some cool come from the handjob Derek gave him. 

Derek kept thrusting, driving as deep as he could, pulling out until his knot had stretched Stiles' hole around the widest part then plunging back and grinding hard. He nuzzled and nipped at the back of Stiles' neck, his shoulders, and pumped his fist lazily, gentle and slow compared to his hips. 

He could hear Stiles' frantic encouragement and pleading, pleasure and stimulation shaking Stiles apart just how he'd wanted.. Derek felt some sound, a rumble, a growl, a snarl, start in his chest and dart through his fangs, jerking Stiles abruptly upright, impaled on his cock, teeth on his shoulder, hands on his hip and cock. 

He wanted to claim, plow into his mate like he would never leave, and Derek guided Stiles' fall back onto his hands and knees as he howled, the change not so much as sweeping over him, as ruthlessly rising through him. He had the height to place his paws over Stiles, hooking one over the headboard and digging in his claws, placing the other over Stiles' right shoulder and immediately feeling Stiles hand clamp tightly over it as his claws shredded the sheets below. 

His furred belly rubbed against Stiles' back, and he hung his head to pant heavily into Stiles' neck and ear, lapping sweat and tears in equal measure as Stiles begged for him.

“Keep going! I'm so fucking close, please, please, Derek!” Stiles screamed, entire body strung out with pleasure and lust. 

His hips twitched fast and hard, swiveling only a handful as he finally felt the knot fill completely and tie Stiles in place. Stiles screamed and howled under him, sacrificing his free hand to jerk himself twice before coming, ass tightening around Derek's knot. 

Derek tipped his head back and howled, new energy and power behind it, as he felt satisfaction and pure adoration twinge his tone. Derek's claim filled, a vow under the moon and to the woods that had echoed a hundred Hale claims before. He continued to come as he let the Alpha go, slip back under his skin, until it was his beta face on the surface, covering Stiles with his sweat-drenched body. 

“Love you, Stiles, mate, love you, did so well, thank you, Stiles,” he whispered, voice hoarse. He held Stiles' hips still as he tilted them onto their sides, arranging himself for Stiles' comfort, nuzzling the sweat and tears from the side of Stiles' face he could reach. Stiles grabbed his arms and tugged him closer, heart still racing as his ass twitched around Derek. 

Stiles was quiet, his body still shaking after being pushed so hard, so fast. He breathed in the stillness of the room, heavy but short breaths that Derek echoed as his heart slowed. Stiles broke the silence with a hoarse laugh. “I love you, and I vote we do it like that all the times. Your wolfy self is a steam engine. I feel so good right now.” 

Stiles had to be Stiles, be perfect and know just what to say to make Derek laugh and love him more, because that was all Derek could do, when words failed him but never failed Stiles. He nuzzled his face into the nape of Stiles' neck and closed his eyes, Stiles' hands lightly stroking his forearms until he fell asleep. Derek drifted, sliding one hand down to Stiles' hip and leeched the discomfort from Stiles. He stayed awake until his knot shrunk and he could pull out without causing Stiles pain.

The unintended consequence of their late night was that the werewolves of their pack had obviously heard them having very intense sex and shared with their human pack members. Scott, Isaac, and Jackson couldn't look either of them in the eye for weeks, while the rest of the pack had teased the hell out of them. They'd all taken to staring a little longer at Derek's Alpha form in a way they never stared at Scott's lanky, rust, grey and black Alpha form, so he'd flash a little fang and most of them would let it go. 

Derek leveled any particularly long and bewildered stares with lifted lips and less than friendly growling, which from a wolf the size of an adolescent bull was more than intimidating. Stiles ruined this tactic by crafting flower crowns and collars with Isaac, wrapping Derek in them until he was itching to roll around in mud to scrub away the strong floral smells. He didn't because making Stiles laugh was worth the loss of his dignity and he would still come out miles ahead of Scott the Wolf who never failed to trip over his paws and overestimate his ability to jump. Derek had never stranded himself in a particularly tall tree because he jumped too high and instinctual fear of falling kept him from jumping back down. Just saying.

But it was Stiles showing affection for the wolf, offering things to the wolf, so there wasn't anything to do but accept them. He could ignore the occassional rope toy if Stiles always curled up around him and ran his fingers through his fur. He could ignore a lot of Stiles' antics when he would absently touch Derek's neck, his ears, his shoulders, and be the first one to meet Derek after a hunt, a clean cloth and bottle of water for his bloody mouth.

It was almost a shock how much he loved Stiles. He'd had never loved any of his partners, found compatibility or grudging allowance, like the panther, the siren, the naga. The higher reasoning of what sharing bodies, meat, and time meant, more than cubs and comfort, was harder to hold onto when he slipped into the Alpha skin, but he loved Stiles in the same way he could say he loved pack, loved being full, unchallenged, mated. If Stiles could love him, all inhuman animal instincts included, Derek could hardly complain about it. He just hoped it never stopped.

So some items were added and revised to Stiles' spreadsheet of sex after that night, because Stiles hadn't considered it before but now filled all new columns with wolfy habits and continuously asked questions like, “Could I fuck you when you're the wolf, Derek?” 

Which Derek wasn't sure about, simply because the Alpha pieces of his brain all registered as dominate male and he'd told Stiles as much.

“-the mounter of mates, the apex of wolfy male perfection, you can't be serious, Derek.” Stiles rolled his eyes. 

Derek lifted his lips, flashing teeth and red eyes, which Stiles treated like the threat it was and threw a pillow at his face. “In my beta shape? Yes. I am completely fine with you topping me like that. As a wolf?” 

He could understand letting Stiles mount him in his beta shape, because betas were not Alphas and he'd always been a beta, but the Alpha just didn't seem to understand, not have an actual instinct or feeling that Derek could translate from higher reasoning. Personal preference aside, he wanted to give in that shape, be the one to offer pleasure, rather than to be the one to sit back and receive it. There were limited ways that the Alpha could express deep affection, and he doubted Stiles would like the alternative methods as much as he liked the sex.

“The Alpha wolf doesn't get mounted,” Derek said, raising his voice as Stiles choked on a laugh. “When I'm the wolf, my instincts are closer to the surface. You mated with the wolf, so as far as instinct is concerned, you're the female breeder in our pack and so you're mine.” 

“Oh my God, so all that effort earlier was for baby-making purposes? What happens when intelligent thought clicks on and, hey, I'm not swelling with cubs? Derek. Derek, the wolf won't try to find a female for cubs if I can't, right?” Stiles actually sounded worried about that. Derek rolled his eyes.

“I mounted you and claimed you. You're it. You're all I want. The wolf is me. Instinct is hard to ignore, but I'm still thinking under all that fur. I know you're not female and we're not making cubs, but there's no desire in that shape to do anything else but mount you.” 

“Also, can we stop saying mount? All I can picture is dogs fucking, Derek.” 

“When the wolf fucks you, that's all I can think about doing.” Derek crawled on his hands and knees over to Stiles. Stiles' eyes darkened as he tracked his progress. “I fuck you to knot and claim you. And you take it. You take my knot like you're made to be mine.” 

“Holy God.” Stiles' eyes were wide, breathing heavily as Derek lapped at his inner thighs. “You're so good at seduction, you fucker.” 

Derek smiled, looking up at Stiles through his lashes. “Real wolves. They'll mount to show dominance, but we both know who's in charge upstairs. There's no knotting except during mating. Nothing but an instinct to mate and be done. Did it feel like that, Stiles? Like I was just scratching an itch?” 

He crawled further up, mouthing at Stiles' cock, then up his stomach and to his nipples. He ran his nose across Stiles' breastbone, feeling his lungs bellow. 

“Or did it feel like I was marking you? Like fucking you and pleasing you was all that mattered to me. C'mon, Stiles, you're a smart guy. This is a really easy question.” 

“Shit.” Stiles kissed him, licking at his fangs and sucking on his tongue. “Okay. Yes. You're an asshole, sometimes. What was the question?” 

“No, you can't fuck me as a wolf, Stiles. All the wolf wants to do is please you and cover you in the smell of being mated.” 

“Got it.” Stiles breathed out, and Derek sunk back down, wrapping his mouth around Stiles' cock and tonguing at the pulsing vein on the underside of it. “Hey! I can blow you as a wolf, though, right?” 

Derek pulled off, licking at the beads of precome dripping down Stiles' cock. “If you can get me to hold still long enough in that shape to blow me, you can blow me.” 

“Yes!” 

Derek snorted and dropped his head back down.

This had looped their conversation from sex back to the educational werewolf discussion, and Derek's very different self-concept of the wolf in comparison to the rest of the pack. 

Derek was the only born wolf in the pack, aside from Peter who was all too reluctant to let Stiles pick his brain about zombie werewolf club membership and Cora who was Hale through and through and would sooner stab Derek than talk about sex and feelings with him. Scott might have been another Alpha, but Derek had long stopped comparing himself to Scott. 

He'd never be a True Alpha, never be the alpha Laura would have been, the inheritor, the birthright, or like his mother, Talia the Alpha of Alphas, the matriarch, the unchallenged. Derek was the Alpha who was never meant to be, the Alpha of misfits, of omegas, the one who failed, the one who burned. He'd been the beta, the omega, and now sat as one Alpha of Beacon Hills, because this was Hale land, and he would always belong to this land and the magic within it until he died, or maybe even beyond that, as Peter had proven. 

“Do you ever regret the bite?” Derek asked Boyd, helping him sort through the supplies Boyd needed to build terrariums for his 3rd graders. Erica and Isaac had had external problems, things that the bite could fix and compensate for. Boyd had just wanted what Derek had wanted when Laura died: security, connections, and family. 

“Once. Back when Jackson was doing his kaiju impression and the Alphas sent us to you broken,” Boyd said, grouping materials together from the piles Derek created. “Sometimes I think about how different things are for me now and what they would have been like if I never took it.” 

“Only sometimes?” Derek stared at the glass mason jars, small bags of potting soil and rocks, and the crates of small plants. 

“Yeah,” Boyd stuck neat labels over the lids of the jars, bags stacked inside. “I didn't have anyone but my gram since the accident. I lost Alicia years before that. I had no one else at all. I know you get that.” 

“Yeah.” Derek swallowed, throat tight as he remembered just how he'd lured Boyd with the bite, with never losing someone because you were limited to human means, to being able to steal pain from someone dying in your lap and maybe getting them to help soon enough to save them. 

“And I got a pack out of it. I got a chance to be better. I have a job I love, a house with no history, and someone to share it all with.” Boyd reached out and grabbed his wrist, squeezing tight and drifting his fingers up to Derek's forearm. “I got a lot more out of the bite than I thought. I only regretted it once.”

“Despite all the life or death situations, you only regret it once?” Derek pulled his hand up to grab Boyd's forearm and grinned at the peace he could feel through the pack bond. 

“The bite? I regret once. Living in Beacon Hills? That I regret every damn day.” Boyd smiled just a bit, lightening his entire expression until Derek could see the faint beta gold color in his eyes. Derek snorted and withdrew, filling bags with potting soil. 

He walked back to his house once he'd helped Boyd put everything in his car and secured the crates of plants in place. He knew every inch of the woods in front of him, could hear all the wildlife thrive, could smell how Koryfi brought new life to the lake with just her presence. He still felt overwhelmed and lost, struggling to keep ahead when the pack would look to him for advice or knowledge. Still looked for Laura over his shoulder when no one else was around, when Stiles and Scott left to mediate for the slyphs and the rest of the pack didn't need him. 

He felt marginally better after talking with Boyd, joining him in a task that took no time at all. He'd seduced Erica, Isaac, and Boyd with power and security, not as open with the dangers as he should have been in an effort to bind them together in their new lives. Being a werewolf, being who and what he was, it felt better now than it had on the tail of Laura's death. He waited on the back porch, lost in his thoughts until Stiles pulled up and sought him out. 

“It wasn't that we didn't need you there,” Stiles said as he leaned against the door frame. “It was time sensitive and Scott was already there to pick me up. I know you don't like dealing with their arguments, so it was more important to me that you didn't get pulled out of work, doing something you enjoy, just to deal with a domestic. It wasn't that we didn't think you could. I just didn't want to make you.” 

Stiles stepped into Derek's bulk, butting his way into Derek's space, until Derek closed arms around him and held Stiles just like Stiles had always held him. He tangled their fingers together and squeezed. Stiles brought their fingers up and kissed Derek's knuckles one by one. He let Stiles lead him into the house and upstairs, then down onto the bed and spread out beneath Stiles.

“I love that you're comfortable enough to do this,” Stiles whispered, breath a little ragged as he leaned down and ran a hand down Derek's shifted face. He dove his hips forward, still coming inside Derek and starting to soften, but he kept rolling his hips until Derek came. 

Derek's voice was soft, a cry that barely needed effort. He turned his head blindly into Stiles' hand, mouthing at the sweaty skin of his palm and catching the artificial taste of lube on his fingers. Stiles stayed over him, soft cock buried inside him, until his breathing evened out and he rolled to the side, Derek following to press his face into Stiles' neck. 

Derek didn't worry about letting Stiles see the full extent of a born werewolf's instincts, unashamedly owning up to scent marking around the retired Sheriff's house, pissing on his territory lines, bringing down deer and rabbits, sleeping in a puddle of fur outside Stiles' office on the rare occasions he brought work home and shut the door to disruptions. He got comfortable in his skin the way his mother had been, unreservedly naked because that was what and who he was and there wasn't any reason to be afraid, ashamed, or self-conscious about it.

Stiles was the first person he could remember, since his mother when he'd scared himself accidentally shifting, who held his face between steady palms, looked him in the eye, and called him beautiful, despite the glowing eyes, the sharp teeth, and face that would never look fully human.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Warnings: 
> 
> Being Triggered (restraints)  
> Dirty Talk/Sex Scene Talk  
> BDSM Play  
> PraiseKink  
> Sounding  
> Rimming  
> Fingering  
> Breath Play (no breath deprivation - no obstructed airways)  
> Use of Toys (dildo, cockring)  
> Fisting  
> Knotting
> 
> Mentioned (but not explicit):
> 
> Body Image Issues  
> Restraints  
> Aftercare

“We were traveling between reservations, across open ground. Most of us were horse-shaped, keeping the children at the center of the herd. Myself and a few others stayed human. We usually run a patrol, two by two, in shifts among those of us without young children. It was after midnight. We had no warning, no alarm, and it came upon us with great wings and claws and stole a child from the middle of the herd.” The herd stallion opened his arms, shaking his head. “We looked for days and found nothing. Then, it came again and left behind a half-eaten corpse.” 

“We should talk about this more inside,” Derek said, looking over the pack and the larger centaur herd spread in front of the Pack House. They all looked worn; the shifted centaurs were mud-flecked and lathered. They looked like they had traveled for days, slept little and ate scarcely anything.“My pack can watch over you for now. This land is protected. You will be safe here.”

The herd stallion was dark-skinned, wearing his human shape, and older than Derek, older than Stiles' father. He was weathered and aged, and the smell of pain and tragedy around him aged him even more. He waved only two others with him, leaving the rest in the hands of the pack, much to the pack's obvious delight. Scott trailed in with Allison and sat beside Derek. Stiles and Allison lingered behind them, Allison's Hunter status and Stiles' place as the pack emissary letting them into this meeting. 

It was terrifying that centaurs were coming to him and his pack for protection. Centaurs were some of the first and longest lived supernaturals, which just meant their allies were even thinner than Derek liked to think about. Soon, hunters like the Argents would be out of a job if even centaurs were seeking help from creatures they didn't consider intelligent enough to live this long. 

It was a gruesome tale and particularly worrying, because centaurs were old, very old and very powerful, and so much higher on the food chain than werewolves. Derek could think of three reasons to take and kill centaurs, and each one pointed to human reasons and human desires: for knowledge, for power, for longevity. But unless there was a human grabbing centaurs from a helicopter, they were using magic or other monsters to bring them in. 

“You were the nearest pack, the nearest allies we could ask for help, Alpha Hale.” The stallion took one of the chairs, letting the other two flank him. “We could not go to our families and let this monster savage them. Our weapons did nothing to slow it, the guns and arrows we use. The warding magic I know, the monster ignored.”

“We'll do all we can,” Scott promised, face set and grim. “It'll be better if you stay here. The property's large and warded and there are always wolves here.” 

“I live here,” Derek said, gesturing a hand to Stiles. “Our emissary lives here, too, and warded this place. Whatever you can tell us about this monster to bring it down, we'll need to know so we can coordinate how to kill it.” 

“Thank you,” the stallion said after looking each of them in the eyes. “I'm Rhoe, stallion of the Yakima herd. These are Meda and Holite, the other two eldest of us. Meda can tell you more about the monster. She injured it enough to free one of our children.” 

Meda was as dark as the stallion, hair braided thick and long around her face. She was also very much a warrior, having the same strong stance that Derek had seen so often in his mother. 

“It's large, maybe sixty feet, and it's fast. It wouldn't land, so it's strong enough to grab and carry one of us. Leathery wings, and at least two, clawed legs. I shot cold iron bullets, and when I injured it enough to drop the child, it turned back on me and struck out.” She lifted the hem of her t-shirt to show her stomach and the bandaging around her middle. “It struck deep, but no poison.” 

“Did you get a good look at it?” Stiles asked, leaning forward to stare at her stomach, jumping as she shoved her shirt back down and glared at him. 

“It came on the new moon, on a cloudy night. The fires we had, the flashlights, flood lights, we couldn't get them on it. It was too fast. We have slightly better night vision than humans, but I could only make out scales.” She shrugged. “The child said it smelled like a snake.”

“That's enough to go on,” Allison said, smiling faintly. “I'm Allison Argent. We can get cold iron.” 

“I need more details,” Stiles said, stepping to stand at Derek's side instead of behind him. “Could I take Meda to my office?” He was looking at Derek, but it was obvious he was asking Rhoe.

“Go with him.” The stallion waved a hand, eyes fixed on Derek's face. Stiles squeezed his forearm and led the way back to his office, Meda following at a slower pace. 

“Let's get everyone settled for the night. If it followed you here, being inside is the best choice.” Scott stood up, Derek rising a second behind him. 

“We have four bedrooms, as well as two dens in this house,” Derek said as the stallion and his second moved to their feet. “I also have two cabins on the edge of the property line. Decide among yourselves how you'd like to be arranged. Whatever else we can provide, please let one of us or one of our betas know and we can get it here.” 

“Thank you for your hospitality, Alpha Hale.” The stallion extended his hand, shaking Derek's firmly when he took it. 

The pack traded protection for information, and most of them weren't shy to sit with the herd and ask about their lives. Centaurs were nomadic, traveling and bartering with their fully human family lines living on reservations and ranches. Derek and Scott coordinated scouting and patrolling, letting Stiles and Deaton place what wards they wanted around the land to defend them from aerial attacks.

Derek let the centaurs decide the best arrangements and accepted it when the children, the stallion, and a few young mothers would stay in the Pack House. The children were a particular interest, half-shifted forms unlike their older herdmates, the fully horse and human shaped alike. It was considered great power, when the supernaturals were prosperous and man was afraid of the deep dark, to wear more than one face, and the more faces a supernatural creature could wear, the stronger they were. 

The lower bedrooms were filled with half changed children gleefully investigating the new surroundings and eventually congregating in the media room with the rest of the pack. Rhoe, Meda, and Holite seemed at ease to sit in the kitchen with Stiles and Derek, telling them of the land they'd traveled, the people they'd spoken to, their fully human families scattered across steadily shrinking reservations. Centaurs were long-lived and durable and, though not particularly suited to the modern technological world, they were better skilled at hiding themselves. The attacks targeting them had made them desperate.

“It would be nice to meet new people and learn things, if it wasn't always a crises.” Stiles smelled like his office, like leather-bound books and magic. He'd slip into bed later and later, researching the hell out of every flying monster he could, unless Derek or one of the pack pulled him away. 

“They're survivors.” Derek thought of the fierce way he'd seen Meda and her herdmates spar against the pack, shifting seamlessly between shapes to keep an advantage. She'd struck him in the chest with her foreleg, hard enough his ribs bruised, when he'd shifted into a wolf and went for her belly. 

“The children, the little colts, are adorable as fuck, Derek,” Stiles sighed and laughed as Derek brushed a hand over his lower belly. “Don't even think about pups, Mr. Wolf.” 

“Not right now, no.” Derek rolled onto his back, pulling Stiles with him to sprawl out over him. 

“That is a leading statement and I am too tired to think about it.” Stiles kissed his chest where he could reach and Derek huffed a soft laugh, running his fingers down Stiles' back, tracing his spine and a few scars across his back, puckered skin melding into smooth, speckled flesh.

“We'll come back to it later,” Derek promised. The few times that Stiles did not spend holed up in his office, he'd been with the children, reading aloud some of the books Erica brought over from the library for them, playing games that they taught him. He'd looked natural surrounded by them, cleaning faces after lunch and chasing after running children. 

It was an absentminded regret, that neither of them could give birth, mostly because there were options like surrogacy and adoption available, but it was something he'd dreamt about, resting a hand on Stiles' swollen belly or feeling a twitch inside his own. It wasn't something he needed to think about now, with a monster looming in the shadows and soft-faced children looking for protection. The herd had settled in, bringing with it all the noise and clatter that Derek missed occasionally, having grown up surrounded by all that noise. The fact was that his pack was mostly from single-child homes and still young enough to plan for children if they wanted them; they didn't seem to ache for that noise the way he did. 

Despite that the herd was nearly double the pack's size, it was fairly easy to mask the herd's scent with their own. The heavily wooded forest and plentiful creeks and streams deterred most predators from tracking. It was almost peaceful, living with the herd and romping through the woods with their scouts. Derek's Alpha form was a novelty the children enjoyed and he'd let them pet and scratch. Rhoe was mostly watchful around the pack, traveling with their scouting party or keeping an eye on the children. 

The first attack didn't take them by surprise, if only because Stiles and Deaton had crafted specific wards for aerial attacks. Peter's cabin was compromised, but the pack was able to move quickly and keep the herd members safe. They'd heard wings and a terrible shrieking as the wards did their job and netted the beast. They'd evacuated the cabin, Stiles, Allison, and Meda firing cold iron rounds to drive it away. 

Whatever it had been was strong enough to shatter the warding and flee. It knew where the herd was, was strong enough to throw off wards, and was bound to come back for another try. 

It became more tense around the house, with all the extra people sleeping in shifts to keep watch, and Stiles spent more late nights on the phone with Lydia trying to figure out what could be strong enough to break wards. The rest of the herd moved closer to the main house and some of the pack stayed at Peter's, in case it struck there again. 

On the night of the new moon, the wards sang and their monster returned. Derek had never seen a wyvern before, was pretty sure that if they weren't extinct that they were on their way to being extinct, and wished whole-heartedly that he never saw one again. It was emaciated and burned in ritualistic patterns over the green-brown scales. It still towered over all of them, even with its near skeletal frame. White eyes rolled as it tracked the greatest threats, Derek and Scott as wolves and the herd stallion in his traditional centaur form. It screamed at them, high-pitched noises that vibrated right down to Derek's bones, and struck out with its clubbed tail and hooked talons on its wingtips.

The winged forelimbs crumpled and tore when the pack attacked it, going down hard on the ground as it struggled to right itself. 

Lydia's alterations to the wards had not only netted the monster, but Stiles sealed them up right after it broke through, and the wards had made it viscous, trapping it on the ground and crippling its movement. 

It swung its clubbed tail, thrashing with its hind legs at whatever got into range, blood splattering across the ground and over the pack. 

The centaurs were deliberately kept back in reserve, their priority to be the first line of defense if it broke free and went for the rest of the herd. Derek and the pack were the muscle. Boyd, Erica, Isaac, and Cora worked in teams to tear the wings to pieces and cripple it, keeping it from lashing out and blinding them under its leather-like skin. Scott helped Derek keep it focused on them, distracting it for the betas and taking any opportunity to go for its throat. Stiles kept back with the stallion, mountain ash bo staff as a precaution.

It was horrific. The monster kept after them, even when its wings were destroyed and it was literally being held together by scraps of skin. It screamed, knocking over trees and gouging up the ground as it lunged on its hind legs and came down hard on its chest. 

Derek snarled, the betas jumping back as it struck with its tail, throwing Isaac and Cora who'd been too slow to move. 

Its mangled right limb came up and slashed Boyd when he'd pulled Isaac out of range. The cold iron bullets weren't helping anymore, despite how often Allison shot its face, pockmarked scarring around its eyes as blood poured into its vision. Impaired vision was only making it frantic and berserk, mindlessly thrashing out and nearly beheading Erica as she ripped a hole in its wing. 

Derek howled, Scott loping around the creature, howling as he ran. The creature reared back, wrapping its tail around a fallen tree to lever itself upright and snarl back. Derek darted for it, Cora and Boyd blocking its arm as it tried to swipe at Derek, just as Scott lunged, Erica and Isaac pinning its other wing down. 

Derek dug his claws into its throat and bit down, shaking his head to rip open as much of the scaled skin as possible. He could hear Scott's rumbling snarl as he did the same, both of them jumping back as Boyd yelled a warning. 

The wyvern landed hard, scrambling at the ground and dragging its head, neck gaping open where Derek and Scott savaged it. It hissed and struggled on its belly, tongue lashing the air and blood pouring out, still trying to attack them as it gasped for breath. 

It died slowly, pupils blown white with magic and the runes fading from its body. 

The pack had seen worse fights, but they'd seen better, too. Broken limbs and clawed torsos could heal. Derek left that fight with some deep wounds and a broken leg. He led the pack to the house, leaving the corpse of the monster in the woods. The pack would know if someone was about to find it accidentally and they needed a chance to heal before dealing with it. 

“Deaton's coming over and we're going to go look at the corpse. Try to copy down any of the runes you saw if you still remember them, but something was really messed up with it, right?” Stiles helped support his weight as they limped back to the house, Derek gingerly putting weight on his leg as it started to heal.

“Once it realized it was outnumbered, it should have tried to run.” Derek scowled, pausing as he they came up on the door and Stiles slipped from him. “It couldn't have made those marks by itself.” 

“Exactly.” Stiles kissed him, looking conflicted as he pulled away and walked down the steps. “Get someone to look at those wounds, Jackson maybe since he wasn't out there with the rest of us.” 

“Be careful, Stiles.” Derek waved at him as Deaton pulled up. He watched their backs until they vanished in the treeline and Jackson came over to help him set his leg. 

He knew something was wrong the minute he saw Deaton come back out of the woods alone, face hard. He strained his hearing for the sound of Stiles' heartbeat, but over the sheer number of people in his home, on his land, he struggled to hear much of anything beyond the treeline. He was helpless. Useless. Like he was standing at the treeline with the county sheriff holding him back as they brought body bags through the front door of his burnt and smoking home.

Derek forgot about the centaur children when he had walked away from the monster's corpse. What if whoever drew runes on that monster, made it carry away children, watched it? What if they brought it down and only managed to piss off whatever loosed it in the first place? Why did he think the danger had passed when it hadn't? Because he thought he saved the day, made everything better, and it wasn't true, was it? 

The monster's master took Stiles, but Stiles hadn't been stupid or careless. Stiles left with one of Deaton's iron daggers and one of Allison's push knives. Stiles could hold his own. Stiles was still the strongest person Derek could think of. The pack just had to find him. Derek never wished harder that there really were werewolf mates and they were mystically bound together, if only to find Stiles faster.

Instead, Lydia tracked him down, despite the fact she was still in Boston by using Peter to channel her focus. Derek had stopped feeling anything about Peter, after he'd tried for the Alpha powers back before Derek and Stiles ever got together, before the Alpha pack was finally and absolutely no longer a threat to anyone. He watched Peter's eyes change from blue to white, and Lydia's influence overpowered Peter's will. She tied into the telluric currents and narrowed down where Stiles could be.

Lydia, through Peter's body, led them off Hale land, but not far enough. Whatever the master was doing, he'd needed to be close to the herd to do it. Derek howled, the pack crept closer to the farmhouse, and Lydia broke down the front door. 

Other monsters jumped out at them, redcaps and imps and harpy fledglings, all marked with runes and glowing white eyes. The pack cleared the way for Lydia, Derek, and Scott, Lydia stopping every so often to destroy wards. 

They found the master, carving runes into Stiles and the centaur children chained, marked, and huddled against the far wall. The master smelled rotten, like his body had wasted away long ago, and he kept dragging his knife all over Stiles' skin. Derek lost himself for a while during the fight. He had been so focused on getting to Stiles and killing the monster who was hurting him that he'd forgotten about all the rest. Wards. The centaurs. The pack. 

The Alpha ripped apart the room, demolishing furniture, overturning tables of ingredients, ripping out the chains and shackles and chandeliers and ceiling fans. Everything that was between the Alpha and Stiles. If the master ever hurt him, Derek hadn't felt it. 

He remembered high-pitched whines and electric shock. He remembered singed hair and melting skin. He remembered shifting between clawed human hands and the Alpha's blood-drenched muzzle. He remembered locking his teeth around a throat and shaking and pulling until it came apart. Until he'd ripped that throat out. With his teeth.

He remembered shifting back to his beta-shape and staying conscious long enough to throw up. 

The rest Scott had told him, sitting at his bedside and looking at peace with the world and everything in it. Scott looked like Talia sometimes, more of a presence than actual features, but Derek could see it when he was looking for it. 

So during his great black out, he'd missed being carried out of the house by Lydia princess-style, the runes on Stiles and the centaurs fading away, and Stiles waking up not wholly Stiles but also partly the master. 

“Deaton investigated the runes and determined that the master had been spreading pieces of himself into other creatures. The older, the better, but he'd need power for it, more than he had, which was why he was taking centaurs.” Scott paused, eyes widening as Derek lurched upright, eyes bleeding red as he forced Derek back down against the bed. “Stiles is alright. The master hadn't been able to focus through getting his throat ripped out long enough to sink completely into him.” Scott grinned at him. “Stiles took one look at your stupid unconscious face and upchucked black goo all over the forest. And then passed out in my arms.” 

Scott wasn't the type to be purposefully cruel, so when Derek started crying, he'd just reached out and held on. He pulled Derek into him, ran his hands down Derek's back, and stayed quiet while Derek cried his stress and terror out. Because Scott was always going to be Scott, and Derek could trust that. Even when he felt so small he wasn't sure he deserved the kindness. Even after he'd stopped crying, Scott didn't let him go so Derek just focused on Scott, the pack bond thrumming powerfully, and the smell of Stiles on Scott's skin.

Stiles hadn't stayed away long once Scott did pull away and leave, and if Scott ever told him about Derek's breakdown, Stiles never let on that he knew. Derek was sure Stiles suspected, if only because Scott and Derek were like antagonistic and unwanted step-brothers forced to make nice, which mostly involved sniping at each other mockingly when left in rooms alone. Scott didn't like making people cry, so the evidence spoke well enough for itself, but still. Scott and Stiles kept it very, very secret if they ever had that conversation. 

Stiles curled into him, wrapping Derek around himself and tangling their legs together. “You did great, Derek. I'm so proud of you, of the pack. You kept your heads, came up with a plan, and worked together to get me out. I wasn't careful enough. He hit us with some sleeping powder or chloroform or something, because the next thing I knew, I was strapped to a table.” 

Derek wanted to shake him and shut him up, but he'd grown as a person since those urges started making themselves known, and instead, he settled for kissing Stiles until he shut up and shook, with exhaustion or maybe with relief, but it achieved his end goal of having Stiles quiet and alive and smiling for him.

“Promise you'll never rip a throat out like that ever again. Gruesome doesn't even begin to describe it. I will have nightmares about gaping throats just spattering blood and oozing and twitching, I swear.” Stiles shivered, but pressed kisses to Derek's lips anyway. 

Derek maintained that ripping the throat out was the most effective attack while he was in the wolf shape, bar disemboweling with his claws, but it was really, really messy and he was never doing that in beta shape. Ever. The wolf had no such reservations, though Scott, despite his own lanky Alpha shape and big teeth, still looked squeamish about doing anything with his teeth.

He slept with a hand curled around Koryfi's blessing, the glass cold in his hand through the night. Stiles slept around him, weight and realness that couldn't be faked. The water chased away his lingering distress and Stiles' heartbeat and scent, heavy and warm and all around him, lured him to happier dreams. 

The centaurs took their children, promised alliance and bestowed honorary herd status on both Derek and Scott, symbolically honoring the pack through their Alphas. They left but the house felt lighter, despite the fact that it was mostly empty again with just Derek, Stiles, and whatever pack member wanted to stay with them. 

Boyd and Erica retreated back to their cabin on the edge of Hale land, Peter vanished into the old loft, Scott, Isaac and Allison had a townhouse near his mother's house, Jackson and Danny shared a studio downtown, and Cora shared an apartment with her new girlfriend, Koryfi the naiad. 

It meant that the filthy and arousing promises Stiles made to reward his part in the victory were going to be for Derek's ears alone. They had life-affirming sex and sleepy sex and 'we-don't-have-any-plans-so-let's-just-fuck' sex. It was all building up to Derek's big reward for not blindly tearing off into the night and getting himself murdered by unknown forces. 

“You don't get how important this is. I'm so damn proud of you for keeping your shit together and working with the pack, even when you were so worried about me, Derek. We need to reward the hell out of this shit so you will always do it.” Stiles pressed kisses to Derek's forehead, hands cradling his jaw, and Derek relaxed and swallowed back the offended huff he was going to make at the treatment. This was important to Stiles, not a single mocking note or scent to him, so Derek could put up with it.

They needed some time to get their supplies together. Stiles wanted measurements taken, materials tested, and some basic in-play rules trotted out. 

“What's stop-immediately, no more play?” Stiles asked, brushing his fingers through Derek's hair as they watched Parks and Recreations on mute, captions across the bottom of the screen. 

“Woodsman.” Derek sighed, because when he agreed to this, he'd agreed to all of Stiles' stupid ideas, too. 

“Very good.” Stiles kissed the crown of his head, leaning down to where Derek was resting between his legs with his head on Stiles' shoulder. “What's stop-pause, need a second?” 

“Grandmother.” Derek closed his eyes as he was rewarded with another kiss. 

“Good. What's no-stop, continue?” 

“Riding Hood.” Another kiss and Derek groaned. “What was wrong with the stoplight? Red means stop, yellow slow down, green for go.” 

“It lacks originality.” Stiles paused and lifted a hand, nudging Derek's chin until he could look in his eyes. “We can use it if you want. Or if we're mid-scene and you forget one, you use the colors. I'll remember.” 

“Thanks.” Derek rolled his eyes, even though his face burned a little and Stiles graciously pretended not to notice.

“When I say 'happily ever after' the scene is over, okay? Makes it perfectly clear that everything's finished. Nothing more to worry about than getting to come back to yourself.” Stiles reached down and twined their fingers together. “We're both pretty tactile after sex, so I don't think we'll have a problem just enjoying the afterglow.” 

“That story doesn't end happily ever after,” Derek said, ignoring the point deliberately.

“My version where Mr. Sourwolf is just looking for a young hot thing and stalks innocent little Red Riding Hood until he agrees to be the wolf's mate, then is tragically kidnapped by the evil woodsman, and the wolf must go to Red's druid grandmother for help, and the wolf rescues Red without tearing any throats out, absolutely ends happily ever after.” 

“That is a terrible story,” Derek said flatly. 

“Let me tell you a better one then.” Stiles dropped his free hand to Derek's waist and slowly popped the button to his jeans. “Once upon a time there was a werewolf with absolutely beautiful eyes and a really bad attitude.” He pulled down Derek's zipper and slid his hand into the gap, fingers wrapping around his cock. He eased Derek's cock upright, pulling him from within his jeans and gliding his fingers from tip to base.

“Stiles-” Derek grabbed his wrist, but Stiles kept teasing him, coaxing him full and dripping. 

“Shh. I'm telling a story.” Stiles turned his head to whisper into Derek's ear, dragging his lips over his skin with every word, puffing warm breath. “One day, he finds two boys in the woods and threatens them. Not intimidated by the werewolf, these boys do some really stupid shit, including getting the werewolf arrested and then sending him on the run from the cops. And nearly getting him murdered.” Stiles wrapped his hand completely around Derek's cock and pumped, slipping his foreskin over and back down the head of his cock. “The werewolf is really, really angry with the boys.”

“Stiles. P-please.” Derek exhaled hard, body starting to shake as he held himself still. 

“So when he gets tired of running from the cops, he tells the boys that they're going to help him hide. Because the boys need his help to survive the Alpha wolf.” Stiles pressed his thumb to the head of Derek's cock, dragging precome and his foreskin down. “The two boys agree, and the werewolf stays with the sheriff's son, despite how much trouble he'd get into being found in the sheriff's underaged son's bedroom.”

“I would have preferred to stay with Scott. You were the last person I wanted anything from.” Derek grit out, Stiles' fingers darting down to tease at his balls, rolling them in the palm of his hand, as his cock leaked even more. 

“My story. I tell it how I want. And I suppose that explains why you'd let me help, eh, Miguel?” Stiles granted him some mercy, closing around Derek's cock in a firm grip. “What the werewolf didn't know was the two boys decided for themselves who the werewolf would stay with. Because, despite how scared he was of the werewolf, how angry the situation made him, one of the boys just couldn't leave the werewolf alone. He needed him around, if only to watch him for trouble.” 

“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” Derek said, voice tight with pleasure, as Stiles stripped his cock. 

“Over time, the boy just couldn't leave the werewolf behind. Couldn't try everything to help him out, even when the werewolf didn't want the help. Couldn't help but need the werewolf, even when the werewolf didn't need him.” Stiles slowed, fingers light around his cock, despite how Derek lifted his hips. 

“Stiles. Please,” Derek whined, hand going for his aching cock but Stiles swatted it away, nuzzling his neck and pressing kisses in a line up to his ear. 

“The werewolf didn't know any of this, had no idea why the boy just needled and harassed and argued with him. The werewolf thought the boy hated him, spent time with him out of obligation. And it had been true. Until the boy needed help, needed someone who believed in him, so he could fight the monster trying to kill him. And the werewolf was there, at his back and helping him kill the monster, when everyone else was trying to get there in time.” 

“Even when I didn't know, I couldn't let you fight alone,” Derek grit out as Stiles finally started to strip his cock again, letting Derek thrust into the tight hold he had. “Stop teasing me like this and just be quiet.”

“I know what you need right now and it's not me being quiet. Now you hush,” Stiles said in a whisper. “The werewolf didn't know it then, but that was when the boy understood himself. Why he couldn't leave the werewolf to die. Why he always got angry. Why he'd never got scared of the werewolf again. He looked at the werewolf and saw everything that drove him crazy and made him want.” 

“Everything about you makes me crazy,” Derek said, turning his face and closing his eyes, letting the words wash over him and trying so hard to keep still under Stiles' hand. 

“He'd fallen in love with who the werewolf had become over the time they'd known each other. The werewolf wasn't the monster, wasn't terrifying. He was all the things the boy wanted at his side, and when the werewolf wouldn't, didn't even know he could, the boy pushed and fought and raged because he'd had a broken heart before, had been left before, and didn't want the werewolf to know.” 

Stiles pressed kisses along the side of Derek's face, squeezing their tangled fingers tighter and running a slick hand faster over Derek's cock. Derek shuddered, his entire body shaking from toe to ear.

“He didn't think about it, about what he wanted from the werewolf who had become his friend. Until he couldn't look at the werwolf without wanting it, wanting him. So, scared and unsure and so nervous, the boy went to the werewolf and told him that he wanted to try being together. That they would be so good together. And the werewolf agreed.”

Derek kept his face hidden in the crook of Stiles' neck, eyes tightly shut and wishing he could close his ears as well. 

“Even though the werewolf wasn't sure about the boy, was so careful with his heart because he'd been hurt and ruined before, he agreed. And the boy fell in love. With everything he'd become. With the person the werewolf had always been but didn't show. And he would always love the werewolf. Until the sun rises in the west and sets in the east. Until the seas go dry and the mountains blow away like leaves in the wind.” 

Derek's hips thrust upwards, a cry catching in his throat as he came hard. Stiles worked him through it, ducking down to kiss Derek's lips. 

“That sounded rehearsed,” he said once he had his breathing back under control and Stiles wiped his hand clean on Derek's shirt. “I refuse to believe that you made that up right here.” 

“Guilty. Scott likes it, though. And I've got these awesome illustrations in my desk at work.” Stiles leaned back, dropping his head against the armrest of the couch which arched his neck so prettily that Derek couldn't help but nip and kiss a line up to his ear. “It may come as a surprise but I'm horribly romantic and I've been writing that story forever, so when we have kids and they want to know about how Daddy and Papa fell in love, I'd have a better story than Mr. Sourwolf and Red Riding Hood.” 

“You could try telling the true story.” Derek hid his smile against Stiles' neck. “Daddy kept trying to keep Papa safe and Papa refused to listen to him, and one day instead of arguing with him, Daddy kissed Papa and they lived happily ever after.” 

“Yeah, if you ascribe to an alternate definition of 'true' that means 'not-in-the-least-bit-true' but hey, we can't all be masterful storytellers.” Stiles swatted at Derek's hip. “And who says you get to be Daddy? Papa Wolf just rolls off the tongue.” 

“Maybe if you're not fond of keeping that tongue it does,” Derek muttered, Stiles swatting at his hip again. He snorted, rolling his eyes at the faux-affronted look on Stiles' face. “Compromise with Dad and Daddy?” 

“Deal,” Stiles said, obnoxious in his outrageous lies. Derek would just have to stage a subtle campaign to solicit favor among their still-theoretical offspring. “What were we doing before?” 

“You were making a case for why we should try bondage in our sex life.” 

“Right.” Stiles was quiet. “How'd I do?” 

“I'm warming up to it,” he said with only a hint of nerves. 

Derek had reservations about being restrained. Nothing good ever happened to him while restrained. Being bound and helpless was a pretty big trigger. But Derek was in charge of setting up their equipment because Derek worked out of the house and Stiles had office hours and on-call hours and emergency calls, so he took some time for himself, as well as some spare rope, and tied one hand to the pullup bar they fastened to the ceiling over their bed. 

The spreader bars they'd bought crumpled under werewolf strength. Derek ended up installing steel bars over the bed, like a stationary trapeze that they'd restrain his hands to. He liked the idea while putting it up, liked being on his knees in their bed and being able to hold something that wouldn't bend easily. 

His knees were on the bed, torso pulled a little taunt, and one arm was tied to the bar over him, hand on the bar and rope properly tied so it didn't rub at his wrist or cut off blood flow. He could pull himself loose if he tried, nevermind that he could cut the rope with his claws. He grabbed the bar with his free hand and tried to think about how he'd feel if it were tied too. 

It wasn't a pleasant thought, when all he could remember was being fried with electricity to keep him in check. He was kneeling on his and Stiles' bed and the sense memory of how it felt to be in this position was just as strong as the memory of being restrained. It was an unsettling double sensation.

Stiles found him like that when he came home from work. Derek hadn't been there for hours, but he was supposed to make dinner tonight and he'd forgotten about it. “Derek? Hey, if this is about doing vegetarian tonight, we can have some grilled chicken, you big baby carnivore. I just wanted to test out some lighter fare healthy stuff, since Dad and Melissa and Mr. Argent wanted to do dinner with us and the menage a tois.” 

Derek wasn't listening, even as Stiles' voice drifted closer and he stilled in the doorway. Derek raised his eyes to watch Stiles. 

“Hey,” he said with his voice uncommonly gentle. “How long have you been sitting there? Probably getting a bit uncomfortable, right?” Stiles came into the room, hands raised in front of him, palms open and pointing towards Derek. “Can I get you untied, Derek?” 

Stiles didn't come any closer until Derek nodded and let his free hand fall from the bar. Stiles untied him, coaxed him onto his back and tugged until Derek's head was on his chest and his arm over Stiles' stomach. Derek stared up at the bar.

“Derek, wanna talk to me about all that?” Stiles asked, running his hands up and down Derek's back. Derek didn't know how to talk about it. He hesitated over the words, the right ones forever out of reach. Stiles ran his hand through his hair, tugged the point of his ear, and pressed a kiss into the nape of his neck. 

The last bit of tension drained out of him and the words spilled out. 

“I wanted to. What we'd talked about? Being tied up for you, God, I want it so much I could taste it.” He exhaled hard, feeling a shiver work its way out despite himself. “I don't think I can. I don't want to be tied back, made that vulnerable, again. And I know. I know you've seen me in worse ways.” 

“It's not okay just because something else was worse, Derek, shit.” Stiles hugged him tight, like he could pull Derek so close, he'd just melt right into Stiles. “This isn't a make-it-or-break-it thing. I don't need to tie you up. I-”

“Before everything, I liked other people being in charge of me,” he interrupted. “I was a beta all my life. Mom, Laura. They looked out for me. I knew that when they told me to do things, it was because they wanted what was best for me. It was when I started to make my own choices that I fucked up. So I want it. I like it when you're calling the shots. It's not about that.”

Derek still felt out of place in a leadership role and all he wanted was for someone else to be in charge. He was used in the past, from Kate's manipulative mercies right through six years of trashy hookups and being used as a weapon. He couldn't imagine Stiles using him like that. Stiles hadn't used him like that since they'd been together.

“When you submit, when you let me take you as a wolf. I love it. That you trust me that much. That I get to see you, all the little things that no one else gets to see.” He liked knowing that he was the last person who would see Stiles climaxing and wrung out. He wanted Stiles to have that vulnerability and assurance from him. “So I want to give that to you. But I don't think I can give it to you like this.” 

“So we don't do it like this.” Stiles laughed, sounding more relieved than amused. “Jesus, drama-wolf. We figure something else out. I'm leaving that bar up, because that is just genius to have, especially when I wanna ride you and need some help, but let's nix the ropes and chains, yeah?” 

“I kinda like the ropes and chains,” Derek said, sliding down and then rising up on his knees so he could straddle Stiles' lap. “I can tie you hands to the headboard that way, and not let you go until I have blown you so hard and rimmed you so thoroughly you couldn't even tell me you name.”

“I'm willing to compromise with that.” Stiles brought his hands up to cup Derek's face and levered himself upwards until he could kiss the breath out of Derek. 

It became a bit of a game. They'd lie in bed, after Derek fucked Stiles or was fucked by Stiles. Panting and sweaty, they'd stare up at the bar and Stiles would run a hand over Derek's thighs and pecs and whisper about a million other things they could use that bar for that didn't involve tying Derek up. 

They were playing that game after Stiles got of work and then worked Derek through the frustration of dealing with his passive aggressive copyeditor. Derek collapsed on Stiles' chest, rubbing his thighs together and enjoying the ache. Stiles tightened his calves around Derek's and scratched his sides, too light to be anything but teasing. Derek laughed and nuzzled whatever part of Stiles was closest. 

“You just get off work and I've made supper. We want to have some fun before the weekend. And you'd say?” Derek asked, sucking hickies onto Stiles' neck. 

“I'd suggest, very innocently, that you strip, right there in the kitchen and let me kiss you before we even thought about heading upstairs.” Stiles ran his hands over Derek's torso in patterns of circles and spirals, catching Derek's nipples between his fingertips and dipping into his bellybutton. “I'd keep my clothes on and I'd ask you just what you thought you were doing, streaking out in the middle of the woods, where anyone could see you.” 

“And I'd say I'm on private property and ask what you're doing out here in the woods, assaulting me, Deputy.” Derek nipped a little harder, leaning up to worry the lobe of Stiles' ear between his teeth. 

“We'd been getting noise complaints,” Stiles said promptly, ignoring Derek's snort. His voice was a put-on twang, a cowboy drawl he couldn't manage right. “Awful lot of ruckus up this away and the locals were getting nervous. It looks rather suspicious with you running out here without your clothes. Are you in some kind of trouble, boy?” 

“Stop talking like that, please, God.” Derek laughed, shoulders shaking and hips grinding down into the cradle of Stiles' hips. He cleared his throat mostly for show and said, “In fact, it's a good thing you're out here, deputy. I've just escaped from my evil boyfriend. He threatened to eat me up.”

“Did he now? Well, that's not good.” Stiles slid his hands down Derek's back, finding the center of his tattoo and running straight down to his tailbone. “Lucky for you that I'm out here to protect you.”

“Uh-huh. Just doing your civil service, is that right?” Derek arched into Stiles' questing fingers, dropping his hips to thrust against Stiles'. 

“Hmm. Might need a little compensation. I've heard your boyfriend is pretty terrible.” 

“The worst,” Derek agreed immediately, smothering a laugh as Stiles pinched his ass in retaliation.

“I'm risking a lot for you, then. Might just have to take a nibble for myself,” Stiles whispered, voice husky and warm. He pressed his lips to Derek's shoulder, swirling his tongue over the muscle, and then planted his teeth in hard, sharp pressure that left Derek trembling. His thrusting hips stuttered and stopped, dropping heavily into Stiles'.

“You can have more than a nibble,” he offered, a little breathless, a little intense. 

Stiles drew away, eyes fixed on the fading bruise he'd left on Derek's shoulder, dropping his mouth to lathe his tongue over until it was gone. 

“I'd just as soon eat you up.” 

“Promise?” Derek titled his throat temptingly, a flush working up his neck and across his face as Stiles' eyes moved to his bared throat immediately, fingers tightening where he was clutching Derek's ass. 

“I'll eat you up; I love you so,” Stiles said in the space between them, warm breath hitting Derek's neck as he leaned over and kissed just under Derek's ear, a tiny touch of teeth and the wet wipe of his tongue.

“All the better, my dear,” Derek sighed, angling away just enough to let his eyes glow red and a fang to peek out between his lips. Stiles pulled him into a deeper kiss, tongue against the ridge of his teeth and then light against his soft palate. “What would you do next?”

“I'd get you upstairs and put you kneeling on the bed, hands wrapped around the pull-up bar. And I'd stretch out under you, lick your hole open and finger you until you were riding my whole fist.”Stiles pressed a finger down to Derek's still slick hole and slid it inside. “And then I'd pull it out, so slow, and kiss it again before getting up and putting you on all fours. And I'd slid my hand right back in.” 

“Mmm. I'd like that. Like feeling you so large, so deep inside me.” Derek spread his thighs and relaxed as Stiles worked three fingers into him. 

“I'd like that too. It'd be like knotting, wouldn't it? Stretching you so open, just for me to enjoy.” Stiles curved his fingers, teasing his rim and then working them in deeper. “I'd make you come on my fist, and I'd leave it there until you were hard again. And I'd fuck you. I'd take out my fist and lift your ass high and fuck you until you were dripping come and sweat. It'd take hours. I know how long your stupid werewolf stamina lasts and I'd pull you through some many orgasms you'd come dry.”

“Think you could keep up with that?” Derek lifted his hips, moaning as Stiles thrust his fingers in and dropping a hand to pinch and tug at Stiles' right nipple. 

“I'd rub one out while I stretched you, come all over your back.” Stiles groaned as Derek lowered his head to suck and tease Stiles' nipple with his tongue. “I'd keep playing with your hole, fingers and tongue, until I could get my fist in and I wouldn't even fuck you until you'd already come twice.” 

“I could take it,” Derek said, rising up on his elbows to meet Stiles' eyes. “If that's something you'd want to do.”

“Yes. God yes. I love your ass, dude. I have folders on my phone dedicated to your ass. If I didn't like your scowl half as much, your ass would be your contact ID on my phone.” Stiles reached down, slipping his fingers out of Derek's hole to palm both of Derek's ass cheeks with his hands. “You wanna maybe do a riff on that sexy talk? We can leave out the deputy parts. I really don't want this filtering back to the station in any way. You remember Deputy DoGood?” 

“Cartwright?” 

“Whatever.” Stiles rolled his eyes and swatted Derek's ass, grinning at the surprised yip Derek hadn't swallowed back in time. “Deputy DoGood is now Sheriff DoesRight and he totally hates me. I'm one year away from being tarred in bad press and publicity so I cannot attain my rightful place as Sheriff of Beacon County.” 

“Sheriff Cartwright doesn't hate you.” Derek was reasonably sure he didn't. Like 65%. 

“Yeah, whatever. Sexy times, Derek. Focus.” 

“I'm open to it.” He kissed the hysterical expression off Stiles' face before he could open his mouth about the pun. 

“We're still using safe words, though. Fisting is not easy. I've never done it before, though it's felt like I have considering how fucking hung you are as a wolf. So, we're both trying something new, and safe words will be in-play for both of us, yeah?” 

“Sounds good.” Derek rolled to the side, curling into Stiles' left side and tucking his feet between Stiles' calves. 

He was only a little nervous, but they had a system in place to keep tabs on each other, to slow down and check on each other. If they got halfway through and Derek said he wasn't comfortable, Stiles would stop. If they got started and Derek really didn't feel comfortable, then they would stop. There was no scenario where Stiles would say no to him.

Derek caught Stiles before he left for work, grabbing the lapels of his uniform shirt and tugging him down to Derek's level. He whispered, “Let's do it tonight, as soon as you come home.” 

Stiles swallowed noisily, stuttered out, “Oh holy God yes,” and kissed Derek's forehead. Derek huffed a laugh and waved as Stiles slipped into the patrol car. 

Derek spent the day lounging as a wolf on the back porch, stretched out in the dappled sunlight, and on the tablet computer Stiles bought him for his birthday last year, browsing for handmade spice racks big enough to fit under the cabinets since Peter broke their last one. He'd skimped on dinner, munched through foods that digested slower, and wasted an hour debating whether or not he was going to use the enema kit he'd purchased on the sly once he'd made up his mind. He caved after reading online that most people wanted to be as safe as possible so they did use an enema and nitrile gloves for maximum cleanliness. Even though there was no conceivable illness Stiles could pick up from him, it wouldn't take Derek any time at all to give himself an enema and he should just suck it up.

He'd followed the directions, felt very aware of his entire digestive system, and squirmed in the shower after he was done until he started feeling more normal. If thousands of other men and women who enjoyed anal could suffer through, so could he.

Once it'd started getting later in the evening, he'd gone upstairs and stripped the bed, bundling their comfortable sheets, duvet, and pillows into the closet and dragging out their play sheets. He liked the scent of him and Stiles, their come, sweat, and lust, but he'd liked less and less the various types of lube they'd used over the years, especially since he had to clean them out of the sheets.

He'd been firm about only using cheap sheets bought in bulk for any planned sexual exploits. Serious play meant serious play sheets because he was not replacing another bedding set because Stiles smeared silicone lube all over them. He was a werewolf, not a wild animal. He was not sleeping in lube-stained sheets.

He pulled their box of toys from under the bed, checking the various bottles of lube and their other toys. He'd need to put more KY Silk on the shopping list and maybe lobby for that Tailstretcher toy on BadDragon instead of that werewolf dildo that Stiles wouldn't stop laughing over. He'd glossed over the surgical supplies, the box of sounds, the sterile lube, and sundry other items pilfered from Dr. Scott's office supplies under the pretext of being for wolf-emergencies. He was fine seeing them in use and using them, but he felt incredibly embarrassed to see them neatly stacked in with their other toys. 

He left the box on the floor in front of the night stand, a tacit agreement that he was willing to play however Stiles wanted to, one they'd worked out after Derek point-blank refused to name any of them, let alone write anything down. He had his hang ups and since Stiles was invested in him and using toys both, he kept his opinions to himself and had the grace to not laugh where Derek could hear him.

Sitting in the bedroom was not an option, considering the point of the whole day was to not be stressed out and sitting in the bedroom pre-scene without Stiles was not helping him relax, so he headed to the media room and stretched out on the couch, indulging in a little Grimm left on the DVR. 

An hour after Stiles was supposed to be back and three text messages that he didn't reply to, Derek broke down and called the station. 

“Hello, Mr. Hale. I was expecting you to call,” Deputy Stafford said as soon as Derek said hello. “Stilinski's taking care of an accident out on the highway. He might be out there a few hours more, in all honesty.” 

“Ah. Thanks anyway.” 

“No problem. We're all looking forward to seeing you again next week, at that cook out for the Sheriff?” 

Derek had a moment of absolute confusion before he realized Stafford was talking about Cartwright and not John. “Yeah. We'll be there. We're bringing the dessert, right?” 

“Yeah. Get Stilinski to bring those brownies he brought to pot luck last month.” 

“Sure. Thanks again, Deputy.” 

“Have a good night, Mr. Hale.” 

Derek sighed and hung up. He made the promise and was reluctant to back out unless Stiles came home and said he didn't want to. He'd been looking forward to it, really, but it wasn't looking like Stiles would even be up to it by the time he came home if he'd had to handle what was most likely a serious accident instead of a fender-bender.

He didn't have to worry. A few hours later, just like the deputy predicted, he could hear a car turn down the road back to the pack house. Stiles likely turned the lights on to get home so fast. He heard the squeaky brakes and the whining hinge on the driver's side door before he heard Stiles' muttering and the flutter of clothing. Stiles was halfway out of his uniform, tripping on the porch stairs and stopping to lock his gun in the safe, shouting out, “I am home! Mission is okay for launch! You had better not be asleep on me, Derek, or we will be having words! Frustrated words!”

Stiles had a bad habit of leaving the bathroom door ajar when he was showering. He'd laughed off reprimands, saying, “I live with werewolves and there is no privacy in a five miles radius in the woods and at least a two mile radius in denser areas. A shut door? Yeah, not really doing much for me. Besides, it just means you get to hear my sweet, sweet voice all the clearer, Derek.” 

“We have sound-proofing for a reason, asshole,” he had said, turning the volume on the TV down instead of up. He liked that Stiles just chattered at him, in absent thoughts and pop lyrics and 'I-swear-I'll-arrest-him-I-will-just-watch-your-back-Whittemore' rants. 

Tonight was no different and Derek was treated to a highly arousing sex tale involving Stiles' ability to hold his breath for a very long time, an ode to Derek's dick with emphasis on length and his foreskin, and a dirty limerick before he said, “I'm toweling off right now and your ass better be on that bed naked, Derek.” 

Derek had been naked on the bed since he heard the patrol car, the one Stiles always took that really needed new brake pads, turn down the road.

Stiles left the towel in the bathroom and came into the bedroom deliciously naked. He'd toned up since high school and college and academy training, keeping in shape despite what was mostly a desk job. The 'beat' in Beacon Hills was mostly drunken teens, domestics, and drugs. Everything else that had paralyzed the department during Stiles' high school career was supernaturally-rooted and the established Hale-McCall pack with the Argents in town heavily dissuaded most. 

Stiles complained about pack runs and fleeing for his life in general, but bowed to Derek's wisdom when after half a year of quiet, supernaturally and not, being chained to paperwork and a new organization system in process at the station, he started gaining weight. 

He'd gained about forty pounds and had been reluctant to engage in any sexy activities, despite Derek's constant and loving attention, because he'd fallen into a work overload and packed on a heavy diet. He'd skip out on pack runs or training, the door to his office often shut from morning to night, and the house was usually only stocked with werewolves and their faster metabolism in mind. He was sure that Stiles really worked on staying in shape because he'd hated how he'd looked with the beginnings of a beer gut and soft muscle. The lingering insecurity from puberty and high school that kept him in layers and self-deprecating attitudes he played off as bro jokes and Derek's lasting physique hadn't made it easier to process either.

Stiles'd been bigger, stomach curved and heavy, and his muscle had faded, but Derek hadn't seen whatever had made Stiles miserable. He'd liked having more skin to kiss and explore, liked the heavier feeling of Stiles on his lap, and he'd especially loved how pliant Stiles went when Derek fucked him against the wall, often right after a bout of insecurity where Stiles refused to strip. He'd lost weight, but retained the curved stomach which Derek couldn't help but fondle and hold whenever Stiles was in arm's reach. The way he'd mooned over Stiles' body probably helped temper his reluctance to engage in sex and shore up the belief that Derek found every inch of him delectable. 

Stiles' body and the confident way he was in the bedroom, especially during sex, would always press Derek's buttons. Stiles learned how to handle himself. Derek could watch him do nothing and come away ridiculously horny. At some point, Stiles had learned how to be still and judiciously use that ability to drive Derek mad. The contrast with his normal presence was so vivid Derek knew he had Stiles' full attention.

In his opinion, Stiles looked best naked, with nothing to hide long legs, soft stomach with the stretch marks that Derek could not get over licking, and wide, perfect shoulders, with the whole lot from cheekbone to toe dusted, some places more liberally than others, with hair and moles. He started getting taller than Derek during college and was finally proportioned to his outrageously long fingers and toes. He had faded and puckered scars, things that Derek treated like a novelty and sacrifice because he was fascinated and terrified in turns by the bullet wounds, claw marks and puncture marks. They curved around his chest, across his hips, and scattered like stars on his back. Derek knew the taste and texture of each one with his eyes, with his fingers, with his tongue.

He gave Derek a lingering once over from the doorway and smiled, skin still slightly flushed and damp from the shower. Stiles skirted the bed, patting the space directly under the bar. Derek crawled, on his hands and knees so slowly, and knelt up with his legs spread, fingers curling around the cool metal.

“Sorry I was so late. Thought about you the whole time. Not really appropriate considering the situation, but when you're waiting for me like this? So sweet? Too much temptation.” Stiles cupped Derek's face between his palms, leaning forward to press a kiss to Derek's forehead, trailing his lips down the bridge of his nose and kissing just under his eyes as Derek closed them. “Knew you'd be here just like this. Such a good boy.” 

Derek's shoulders shook just a little, his fingers tightening around the bar, holding back just how much he wanted to reach out and run his hands over broad shoulders and up his curved neck to hold him in place as he kissed Stiles quiet. Instead, he held the bar tighter and only opened his eyes as Stiles pulled back and took his hands away. 

“Did you think about me, Derek?” 

“Yes.” His eyes followed Stiles as he stepped to the side of the bed, crouching next to the toy box to pull it closer to the foot of the bed. 

“How do you want it? Like we talked about? Want me to just work you over hard and fast? Slick you up and stretch you out and pull every orgasm right on the heels of another? You want it like that?” Stiles reached out, running his hand down Derek's hip and thigh, too gentle and sweet. “Or do you want me to take you apart slow? Coax you through orgasm after orgasm and hold you on the edge? Open you so slow it's like I've always been inside you, can't imagine a time I wasn't?” 

Stiles was on his knees, level with Derek's naval as Derek knelt on the bed, running his hands in small circles on Derek's hips. Derek exhaled hard, tipping his head back to avoid his bright brown eyes, teasing and hungry, waiting for him to say something, to answer his question. Stiles darted forward and kissed his stomach, high above his belly button and just below his ribs, and Derek nearly collapsed, the tension running right out of his body. 

“I want it slow,” he said quietly, locking eyes with Stiles and his face gentling into a smile. “Slow and long.” 

“We can do that.” Stiles stood up, reaching up to untangle Derek's fingers from the bar and giving him a gentle push so he sprawled on his back. “Grab the bars on the headboard.” 

Derek relaxed, let his legs fall open and grabbed the bars blindly. Stiles stayed at the end of the bed, pink lips curving into a smile, and said, “Good boy.” 

He surveyed, fingers wrapping around Derek's left ankle and nudging his legs further apart. Derek watched him, something settling content in his chest at watching and being watched, warmth drifting up from his toes and making him pliable. 

“I think we're going to tease a little bit to get started.” Stiles began rummaging through the toy box, setting things Derek couldn't see on the foot of the bed, and popped the lid on a tube of sterile lube. “I want to play with your cock. You want me to?” 

“Yes, Riding Hood.” Derek stayed still, letting his eyes drift close and neck tip back. Stiles' fingernails scratched lightly on the pads of his feet before he ran feather-light fingertips up Derek's legs, pads of his fingers smoothing through the bristly hair on Derek's legs and thighs. He settled on the bed between Derek's legs, dropping the lube on Derek's stomach and opening the clasp to the box of sounds. 

“Know why I like to play with your cock?” Stiles ran a gentle hand over his hips, reaching down to tangle his fingers through the thatch of pubic hair around his cock. Derek shook his head, keeping his eyes closed to avoid the temptation of watching. “Look at me.” 

Derek opened his eyes, glancing down to where Stiles was perched between his thighs, an array of equipment spread out on the bed beside Derek's left thigh. Stiles held his eyes and asked again, “Do you know why I like to play with your cock?” 

“No.” 

Stiles smiled at that, drawing his fingers down to close around Derek's cock, locking his fingers tightly around the base and angling it upright. 

“Because you get so desperate, so needy to come, after I've fucked your cock. You're so eager to do whatever I want, if I'd just fuck your cock and let you come.” Stiles leaned down to blow air over his cockhead, Derek shuddering under him. “That's why we're starting there. I want you blissed out so you won't even be nervous about coming dry on my fist.” 

“Yes, please,” Derek whined, trying to stay as still as he could and not get hard in Stiles' hand. Sounding was so much easier if he wasn't hard. He didn't want to wait until he'd softened to try again. Not when Stiles would just continue to tease him.

“Such a good boy. I'll take care of you,” Stiles kissed his hip, leaning back and letting go of Derek's cock to grab the surgical lube and a syringe. “I want you to watch everything I'm doing. Don't look away, alright?” 

“Please, Stiles, Riding Hood,” he said, his eyes fixed on Stiles hands as he filled the syringe with the lube. 

Stiles gave him a brief grin, face falling into a serious expression as he angled Derek's soft cock upright again and eased back the foreskin to fully expose the head. He slid the tip of the syringe into the slit, a brief discomfort Derek ignored, and depressed the lube in slowly, using his other hand to gently rub up and down his shaft. The cool temperature of the lube, especially compared to his normal body temperature, sent tremors through his lower body, his thighs shaking, enough that Stiles would notice. He settled back once he was satisfied, setting aside the syringe and picking up one of the sounds. 

“Ready?” Stiles twirled the bent curve of the sound in a circle, fingers still running up and down Derek's cock. 

“Yes, Riding Hood,” Derek said, swallowing hard and clenching his fingers so hard he felt the metal bend in his hand. Stiles grinned at him, lips curving wide across his face, eyes brighter and hungrier. 

“You're going to tell me how best to fuck your cock, understand?” Stiles pressed the tip to his slit and stretched the tiny hole, cool metal dropping inside until a centimeter rested within, Stiles' fingers closed over the remaining inches. “Tell me when I need to turn the curve, Derek.” 

Derek nodded, licking his lips to wet them, a hot flash spreading under his skin, radiating out from his cock. Stiles hummed, fingers tapping a rhythm against Derek's cock as he dropped another handful of centimeters into Derek's cock. It slid down under its own weight and Derek was intensely aware of every inch of empty space, that stretched tight and filled quality he needed to feel deep down at the base of his cock. 

“How does that feel? Want me to get a thicker one?” Stiles asked as he let an inch and then another slip inside, Derek's hips twitching and stilling when Stiles squeezed the base of his cock sharply. 

“Feels good. I don't need-” He broke off with a groan as Stiles let it go deeper, the narrow channel within his cock closed around the sound. He felt heavy and shiveringly hot, increasingly stronger sensations as Stiles slid the sound up and let it drop back to the same depth, fucking his cock with short, deliberate strokes. He whined high, fingers straining around the headboard, and almost thrust up into the sound, when Stiles squeezed the base of his cock hard, so much it stung and ached for a moment. 

“Ah, ah, don't move. Stay,” Stiles said, easing back the pressure as Derek lowered his back fully against the bed, trying to unwind where he was still strung tight and waiting to just pitch forward. “Stay or it comes out.” 

“No, no. Don't take it out.” Derek forced himself to relax, going so far as to take deep breaths, holding them in and letting go after counting to ten. “I'm good. I'll be good.” 

“I know you will.” Stiles teased the sound back and forth, pressing firmly against one inner wall and then the other. “You're my good boy, aren't you?” 

“Yes, yes, I am,” Derek agreed, shaking exhaling as Stiles resumed feeding the sound into his cock. His skin felt too small, like it did when he was in the middle of the Alpha shift, only instead of bending his shape outwards, it bent inwards. With every inch gained, it felt like Stiles was prodding him into place, shaping him into what he wanted to see. He was going to leave bed a different animal, carved by Stiles' hands, tempered with Stiles' lust, wholly devoted to Stiles' pleasure. And what gave Stiles pleasure was giving Derek whatever he wanted. 

“I need to know when to bend it in place.” Stiles drew it back out, until that first centimeter was back, the relinquished space throbbing. The lube-slick metal rose obscenely out, like Stiles was pulling something from him that had always been there instead something he'd put. It gleamed bright and glistening in the bedroom light, a likening smile on Stiles' pink, wet lips. 

Derek nodded and the sound went back in, quicker than before now that the way had been stretched open, that the empty space in his cock knew what should fill it. Stiles was careful with it, angling his cock to drive the sound deeper, pulling back and dipping in. Each stroke was mindful for how cautious Stiles needed to be to not make it a painful experience.

“There. You need to turn there,” Derek said as the sound dropped and he could feel the new angle in his cock where he hadn't felt anything before. Stiles moved the curved end, creeping the sound forward as Derek just panted out, “Yes, yes. It's right there. You can go a little deeper.”

“Which means this is your prostate, right?” Stiles asked, but he hadn't been interested in an answer because he'd edged the tip of the sound right against his prostate, Derek's entire body collapsing inwards with pleasure. Derek's hold on the headboard and Stiles' warning hand kept him from thrusting his hips up and seeking more pleasure. Stiles would give it to him.

“More. Please.” Derek swallowed, tearing up a bit as he kept his eyes open and locked on Stiles' hands. “Please give me more.” 

“You can have whatever you want,” Stiles assured, rotating the sound and stimulating him from the inside. He grit his teeth, watching Stiles fingers and feeling each tiny motion intimately. Stiles was pressing harder, nudging and toying with his prostate, and the insistent pleasure wasn't going to be put off for long. Derek could feel the orgasm building, his balls drawing up and tight, his cock twitching despite Stiles' hold. 

“Going to come.” Derek gasped out, locking his teeth together as soon as the words were out. He could feel sweat on the back of his neck, the muscles along his stomach and back shaking and bunching under his skin, the sparks of pleasure and pressure inside where Stiles was coaxing his prostate.

“Good,” Stiles said. “You give me a two second warning, Derek. Tell me when you can't hold back anymore.”

Derek wanted to close his eyes, but part of the sensation was watching the sound sticking out of his cock. Everything else was wholly internal, and short, sharp breaths hissed in through clenched teeth. He could feel the sound with more vibrantly than he ever could Stiles' cock, and the grip he'd had around the sound felt impossibly tight and firm, like he needed the sound in place to feel whole. 

Stiles rubbed the tapered end against his prostate once more and Derek was done. 

“Now!” He barked out, the sound drawing out of him steadily but surely. There was a fleeting moment where he felt empty and aching, but his entire lower body clenched and he was coming hard, so intensely he couldn't help but close his eyes and whine.

“That's good,” Stiles said, fingers on Derek's cock and milking his orgasm. “See how good that was? Keep going, Derek.” 

Stiles kept his hand on him until he'd finished, cock valiantly staying hard despite how sensitive and delicate it felt. Just having Stiles' fingers, as gentle as they were, closed around him left him shaking, and his arms were nearly numb from holding onto the headboard. He opened his eyes, fighting through the heavy and boneless feeling, to watch Stiles set aside all the toys on the bed and slip down to kneel on the floor. 

“Look at you. You're so pretty like this. Absolutely filthy,” Stiles said, eyes drifting from Derek's fingers and down to his toes. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to the top of his left foot, and Derek curled his toes self-consciously, reflexively. “Was that good?” 

“Very,” Derek said, having to try a few times to scrap up his voice. His whole body felt bizarrely cold now, no longer pushed to the edge. 

“For me too,” Stiles assured. “Let's get you clean and we'll keep playing.”

Derek nodded, watching Stiles' back as he walked into the bathroom and ran the sink. He came back with a damp cloth and settled on the bed at Derek's right side instead of at the foot of the bed. 

“Let go of the bars, Derek.” Stiles waited until he'd unclenched his hands to draw his right arm down and run the cool cloth through his fingers and then down his forearm. He stopped at the shoulder and straddled Derek's chest, though he stayed perched up instead of sinking down. He pulled Derek's left arm down, wiping away sweat and leaving his skin prickly cold before his body acclimated to the temperature in the room. 

Stiles continued from his left shoulder and across his clavicle, sweeping up his neck and then down his chest, rough texture of the washcloth rubbing against his nipples, drawing them up and pebbling. He brought the cloth lower, trailing in soft swirls across Derek's abdomen and towards his hips. Stiles wiped away the puddle of come just under Derek's bellybutton, and the slipped off Derek and went back to the bathroom.

With a freshly damp cloth, he picked up here he'd left off, cleaning Derek's hips and thighs, wrapping the cloth around Derek's cock. The cool and scratchy fabric made it twitch, something Stiles noticed with the flash of a grin, and he brought his other hand up to tip Derek's cock back against his stomach and roll his balls with the cloth. He let it bounce free after he'd tormented Derek enough, wiping down one leg and then the other down to his toes and the pads of his foot.

“Turn over so I can get you back, please.” Stiles was off the bed again and refreshing the cloth in the bathroom sink. Derek rolled to his side lethargically, crossing his arms and resting his chin in the cradle. He wiggled his hips and tried to find a comfortable position to lay down with an erect cock. 

When Stiles got back, he started at Derek's neck, brushing against the back of his ears and across the breadth of his shoulders. He continued down the line of his spine, sweeping over the triskelion and then down to the divots on either side of his spine just above his ass. He made one more trip to the bathroom and started at Derek's ankles, working up to the swell of Derek's ass and spreading the cheeks with one hand to run the damp cloth down the crack and over his hole. 

“I think that I'm going to start stretching you out,” Stiles said, dropping the washcloth off to one side and pressing his thumbs to either side of Derek's hole. He pulled at it lightly, stretching the skin so it open just a little. Derek hummed into his arms and let himself sink fully into the bed, even if it pressed his cock uncomfortably against the sheets. “What do you think?” 

“Work up from fingers?” Derek suggested. “Please?” 

“I'd like that. Could take quite a bit of time, too.” Stiles released him and ran a hand absentmindedly over the back of Derek's right thigh. 

He heard Stiles uncap the lube and let Stiles knees nudge his thighs further apart. He braced to feel wet fingers prodding his hole, so the flat press of Stiles' tongue was a surprise. His fingers tightened around his arms, and he grit his teeth together on an exhale. 

“Hm. Not really the best angle for this.” Stiles grabbed his hips and lifted, just enough so Derek caught on and pulled his knees up under him. “There we go. Hand me a pillow, Derek.” 

Derek uncurled an arm to grab one of the pillows that had been swept to the edge of the bed and handed it back. Stiles settled it under Derek's hip, reaching under to adjust the line of Derek's cock so it rested on top. 

Derek groaned and shifted, squirming just a little as Stiles stroked his cock and ran his fingers against his perineum. Then Stiles' mouth was on his ass again, nipping and leaving stinging bites along the cheeks. He spread the cheeks again to press his tongue against Derek's hole and mouth messily at the rim. 

Derek swallowed back another groan. His body still felt too open, too pliable, to resist anything Stiles wanted to do, but he wasn't sure he'd be able to resist this even if he was running on adrenaline. Stiles kept flicking his tongue and using his thumbs to hold open and massage. Derek just melted into it, his body welcoming Stiles' intrusion.

Stiles pressed a finger in, darting his tongue along the opening. He moaned when Derek pressed back and the vibration traveled up Derek's spine and forced a whine out. Stiles' tongue vanished but two wet fingers were sliding into him with little resistance. Stiles curved his fingers, tugging the edge of his rim once and sliding them as deep as he could. Another wet finger joined them when Stiles pulled back out and his pinky pressed hard into the skin just under his hole. 

“You take my fingers so good. Just like you take everything I give you.” Stiles twisted his wrist and pumped his three fingers in hard, his knuckles pulling at Derek's rim. “I like that you give me this. That you want it so much. I like giving it to you.” 

Stiles pulled at his opening, pressing his slick pinky finger into the open space. He rubbed his thumb against the skin above Derek's ass and leaned over him to plant wet kisses along Derek's lower back. He kept thrusting his fingers in, curling and flexing them as Derek pushed back. 

He pulled his fingers out, Derek edging his ass back to tempt Stiles into returning his fingers. Instead, Stiles patted his ass and rubbed a hand along his right thigh. 

“Give me your hands. I want you to hold yourself open while I jack off,” Stiles said. Derek reached back and blindly groped at his ass, Stiles' hands settling on his wrists and pushing them into position. “Just hold right here, okay?” 

“Yes, Riding Hood,” he said as best he could with his mouth pressed into the bed. His chin was damp from spit and there was a wet spot growing on the sheets around his lips. He panted open mouthed as he kept his ass spread open, closing his eyes as a tingle of self-awareness spread up his spine. He knew Stiles liked watching him. He liked Stiles watching him. 

“That's my good boy,” Stiles said as the slick sound of his fingers on his cock reached Derek. “You just want my fingers back, don't you? You want me to give you something to fill you. You want my fingers, my cock, my hand, isn't that right, Derek?” 

“Yes. Yes, please,” Derek moaned, fangs lengthening in his mouth as he held his hands still. He could feel cool air on his loose hole, as he dug his fingers in place hard enough to bruise.

“I'm going to give it to you. I'll make you take my whole hand and fuck you with it. I'll make you mine and knot you back.” Stiles' tone was heavy with breathy pants, and there was an overwhelming sound of flesh on flesh. The slick slide of the lube and Stiles' rapid heartbeat filled Derek's ears, and the potent smell of Stiles' sweat and precome under the more artificial smell of the lube was strong enough to taste.

The first splatter of come across his back wasn't a shock. Derek could hear all the right sounds that meant Stiles was at his end, but being able to hear it didn't mean he was prepared for it. Each splash felt incredibly hot against his skin. He cut off mid-shout as Stiles pumped his cock and dribbled the last of his come over Derek's fingers. 

“Taste it. Lick my come off your fingers, Derek.” Stiles reached down to smear his come across Derek's back as Derek brought his hands forward so fast his lower body just collapsed into the pillow under him. 

The salty taste of Stiles' come and his own sweat filled his mouth as he sucked each finger clean one hand at a time. He grabbed the sheets with spit-slicked fingers as Stiles traced the triskelion on his back. 

“Getting messy like this wasn't ever my thing. Before, I wanted to get clean immediately, and I had these nightmares during my freshman year that I'd just like be cemented to my partner if I didn't clean it up.” Stiles stopped and planted both hands on Derek's shoulders and then drew them down, pressing hard into Derek's back. “Some people just don't like the smell, either.” 

Derek arched into the pressure, and Stiles patted him fondly on the ass. Derek could feel the cool come across his back, and he could smell it seeped into his skin. Stiles rubbed his ass, spreading his cheeks and scratching lightly at Derek's hairy balls. 

“It's grown on me. Smelling like each other. Feeling your come on my skin. Seeing you covered in mine.” Stiles hummed and slipped a hand under Derek's hips to stroke his cock. “Do you like how I taste, Derek?” 

“God, yes.” Derek licked his lips and chased the lingering, faint taste of Stiles' come. “Love you on my tongue.” 

“Me too.” Stiles teased his cockhead, Derek hissing a bit as he massaged the tender head. “Still sensitive, aren't you? Holding that werewolf healing back?” 

“Want to feel it. I want it to last.” 

“Good. I want everything we do tonight to last. I want you to wake up the next morning, still stretched and slick, desperate to get filled all over again.” Stiles pressed come-drenched fingers into Derek's hole and teased the rim. “Do you want that?” 

“Yes, please, Riding Hood.” Derek bucked his hips back into Stiles' fingers, growling softly when Stiles pulled them away and left him empty again. 

“I'm going to make you come again and then I'm putting my hand inside.” Stiles pulled at his right hip, urging him onto his back again. “Turn over and get on your knees, please.” 

Derek rolled under his direction, feeling the sheets cling to his back, and then he was upright and edging forward on his knees. 

“Hands up. Grab the bar.” Stiles pointed upwards and reached for the still damp cloth with his other hand. He cleaned his hands while Derek grabbed the bar and settled in place, cock bobbing as he moved, come drying and flaking on his back, muscles tense, hole empty. Stiles rocked back on his heels, and his eyes roved from Derek's fingers and down Derek's chest before he looked up and held his eyes. “Spread you knees a little bit. I need more space.” 

Derek opened his stance wider, feeling exposed and desperate. Stiles smiled at him and dropped to his knees to scavenge through the toy box. He surfaced with one of their longer dildos and a cock ring. Stiles slicked the ring with lube and worked it down, down, down, until it was snug around the base of his cock. It was a different kind of invasive to the sounding, and his cock was already so sensitive, already aching, that the pressure made it just shy of cruel. Stiles ran his slick fingers back up to rub his thumb over the head, dragging the pad of his thumb over the hole and fluttering his other fingers around the shaft. 

“I'm going to fuck you.” Stiles rolled a condom over the dildo and started to spread lube down the long shaft to the fake balls. It was intimidatingly large when they purchased it and multiple uses did nothing to change that fact. Its size was under the length of Stiles' forearm and he knew he could take it, especially since it was nowhere as thick. He'd done it before. “Don't move your hands. Don't move your hips. Do not come until I tell you.” 

Stiles was on the bed, slotting in between Derek's legs and rubbing the tip of the dildo against Derek's hole. It caught against his rim, the stretched and loose feeling giving way to being full. Stiles thrust it upwards, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Derek's come-covered back and reaching down to spread Derek's ass open wider. 

Derek closed his eyes, panting out quiet moans as Stiles fed more and more into him, going deep in no time at all. His arms started to shake on the third hard thrust, sweat beading up on his neck at the fifth, and his chest was heaving by the ninth and he wasn't allowed to bear down into it. 

He wanted to roll his hips down until he could feel the fake balls press against his hole. He wanted to writhe back and pull Stiles forward until his cock was buried in Derek's ass beside the toy. He wanted Stiles' fingers on his cock. He swallowed his wants back, because Stiles was reaching for his cock and driving the dildo as deep as it could go, holding it there.

“You're doing good, Derek. I want to watch you like this all the time.” Stiles ground the toy in, moving it in short, rolling strokes but never pulling it out. Derek wet his lips and tried to stay as still as possible, but his body wasn't listening. He was trembling hard, fingers to knees vibrating in place as he took deep, hard breaths. Stiles' questing fingers around his cock were leisurely and too gentle, and he needed something tighter, something more than being trapped in stasis. 

“Please,” he whispered after he lost track of how long Stiles just kept him full and didn't move the toy beyond the incremental thrusts. “Please give me more. Please.” 

“I know. I know this is hard. I will, Derek.” Stiles squeezed his cock just under the head, using just the right amount of pressure Derek needed. Then he backed off and ghosted the tips of his fingers down to his balls at the same time he moved the dildo like a wave, drifting up and receding unhurriedly. “Just keep still, Derek. Deep breaths and I'll let you come. Can you give me five deep breaths?”

“Yes, Riding Hood,” he said, not moving his head. He sucked in a deep breath, and it was punched out as Stiles pulled the toy out sharply and drove it back in fast. He hiccuped short gasps as he tried to get enough air back in, but all of his attention was on keeping still and desperately begging for more in incoherent pleas. 

“That's one,” Stiles leaned up to whisper into his ear. Derek grabbed for the focus and took a deliberate but shaky breath that Stiles punctuated with another fast and hard thrust. Derek nearly sobbed on the tight squeeze Stiles gave his cockhead with his other hand. “There's two.” 

“Ah! Pl-Please. Please, please, please,” Derek muttered, breath catching in his throat as he worked himself up and Stiles eased him back. 

“Just three more. Three more deep breaths and you get to come.” 

Derek drew a breath in, open-mouthed and extended fangs, and Stiles forced it back out. Tears formed and he let them fall as he cried out, too human for a howl. 

“Two more. Keep going, Derek,” Stiles urged, “Breath in.”

Derek obeyed, steadiness impossible, and he filled his lungs.

“Now out.” Stiles gave another thrust and swiped his finger over Derek's cockhead, catching on the slightly dilated hole there and easing it open. Derek shouted and strained in place, fingers so tight around the metal bar overhead he lost feeling in them, lost feeling everywhere but his pulsating cock and his stretched ass, his pounding head and rushing ears. “One more.” 

Derek couldn't keep track of how long it took to draw in one more deep breath. He gasped and punched out desperate cries, begging for Stiles to just give him something, anything he wanted. Stiles didn't say anything, and his senses were so overwhelmed that the sight of Stiles fingers on his cock was the only thing that reminded Derek Stiles hadn't left him. He finally got one strong breath in, chest expanded fully for a bare moment, before Stiles thrust the dildo in while he slipped the cockring off, and Derek sobbed through his orgasm.

His whole body was splintering apart, but Stiles hadn't told him to move yet and there was nowhere to go. He felt tears on his face as he mangled pleas and Stiles' name, but Stiles just worked his cock, dribbling come onto the bed. His pleasure, the intense and aching and overwhelming pleasure, collapsed inwards and drug up his change because no other outlet was coming. It rippled over his features then downwards, and when his knot filled out, Stiles' fingers closed around and under it, like he was tying Stiles to him. Stiles pulled the toy out after Derek stopped clenching on it, working it free slowly instead of forcing it back out. 

“That was so good. You did perfect, Derek. I'm so proud of you for listening to me. Let me take care of you, now.” Stiles rested his chin on his shoulder, leaning forward to nip and kiss Derek's neck, leaving bruises along the length to his pointed ear. “You can move now. Drop your arms, move your hips, however you need.”

Derek's arms dropped, hands hitting the sheets and staying there. He pushed back into Stiles' body and turned his face towards Stiles'. He blindly searched for his mouth, letting Stiles have control and direction, while he mouthed and licked at Stiles' lips without finesse. 

Stiles' other arm came around his waist and locked around Derek's knot, while his cock continued to leak come. It wasn't going to last long, never did when he tried knotting out of the Alpha skin. 

But it still felt so good, filled and full and held in Stiles' hands. He would tighten and loose his fingers, like Derek's knot was tied in his hole, like he'd come in Stiles. He pulled his mouth from Stiles' and pressed his cheek against the side of Stiles' face, rubbing the sweat on his face, the slickness around his lips, so it spread to Stiles. 

“I'm going to tie you to me like this,” Stiles whispered into his pointed ear. He ran the tip of his tongue across the lobe of Derek's ear and leaned into Derek's body so his cock rubbed against Derek's skin. “You do this to me. You make me yours. You make me feel worth something. You deserve to get that, too. You deserve so much more than that.”

Derek whined, high and distressed in his throat, words still too far to reach. But there wasn't anything better than Stiles, no one better to him than Stiles. The line of him along Derek's back, arms around him, lips at his ear, he was surrounded by Stiles and could sink into him with barely a breath. The pulsing in his cock calmed, subsided until there was nothing left to give and his knot began to shrink.

Stiles let it soften in his hands, holding until it was limp, and he uncurled his fingers to let it fall free. He moved his hands to Derek's hips, tracing the curves and edges of his hipbones. He pulled at Derek's hips, Derek following his guiding hands until he was kneeling over the pillow again. He turned his head to the side, tracking Stiles with his right eye as he pulled on a glove and began to heavily coat his fingers in lube.

“This is just for you,” Stiles said, catching his eye. He wasn't smiling, was focused and intent, but Derek wasn't worried. Stiles nudged his wet fingers into Derek's open hole, three sliding in easily and curling. “All you have to do is tell me if it hurts. It's not supposed to hurt, so you need to let me know, okay?” 

Derek nodded as much as he was able, licking his lips around his protruding fangs. He felt quiet, still in his skin like he'd never felt before, when the change was always boiling inside him. Stiles leaned over, free hand pressing into the mattress by Derek's hip, and kissed the side of his mouth. 

Stiles stretched his fingers apart where they were buried in Derek, sliding slickly against his rim. He slipped his smallest finger in on the next thrust forward. Too heavy to even move his hips, Derek closed his eyes and focused on how gently Stiles was probing his fingers, how stretched and comfortable he was. 

Stiles was moving his thumb in short strokes, just above Derek's hole, and he'd press the tip of it against his other fingers. It was enough that he could feel his body give under it, open without much resistance to the greater intrusion.

Stiles pulled his fingers out, a protesting cry climbing low out of Derek's throat, but Stiles soothed him, was already pressing his fingers back. Derek could feel five fingertips, slick and not Stiles' skin but as good as, and narrowed together as they slid in. He could tell exactly when Stiles pressed in past his knuckles, past the meaty part of his hand where his thumb connected, and then his boney wrist, and Derek hadn't taken a breath since Stiles slid in. 

“There,” Stiles said, proud and triumphant and awed. 

Derek exhaled hard, his entire body closing in as the air went out. He could feel Stiles' fingers as he started to spread them apart, touching walls and flesh he'd never touched so fully before. He felt pinned beneath a bigger predator, on his belly under something hungry, but he wasn't scared, wasn't afraid of offering his throat, his belly, whatever was wanted from him. 

“You're mine.” Stiles rubbed his knuckles against Derek's inner walls, going a little deeper within and ever-so-cautiously back the way he'd came. “It's my knot inside you. Does it feel good?”

Derek hummed, finding the desire to tip his hips up and into Stiles. He felt Stiles' hands catch inside him, stay buried as he moved, and smiled. The change wasn't coming, no dissonance from being a wolf knotting with being pinned and knotted himself. It was Stiles, giving him everything he'd wanted and everything he was desperate to give when he pulled on the Alpha skin. 

Stiles leaned up further, twisting his hand inside Derek until he'd made a fist and rocked his whole arm forward and back. Derek's breath caught, Stiles' fist dragging over so many sensitive nerves, too intense. Stiles kept a steady motion, breath hitting Derek's neck and ear. He pressed open-mouthed kisses on Derek's wet skin, hot breath against cool skin. His warm and wet hand buried where Derek felt too hot, a heat like pain and sunburnt skin as it healed in seconds.

It hurt. It wasn't painful, wasn't anywhere near the edge of pain the change brought, but it hurt. Everywhere Stiles' fist touched, where it dragged across and stimulated, ached. Derek gave into it, gave into the pain that wasn't and was terrible. He needed it to be the right shade of painful. He needed this and he fell into the bright sensations, the ones that drove everything away until he was left with nothing but himself.

“Derek? You're going to come. You're going to come on my fist.”

Derek was. He could feel his body twitch and writhe, weighed down like he was underwater. He was clenching tight around Stiles' forearm, cock valiantly leaking but it was less than before, too soon after his last set of orgasms, too soon after knotting. 

He felt bizarrely anchored to his body, but not at where he should be. It was Stiles' breath against his neck, the sweaty fingers of Stiles' other hand braced on Derek's thigh, the brush of Stiles' pubic hair against his skin. Pressure was building, drawing from everywhere he could feel Stiles. 

It broke. 

He shouted, voice dragging raw through his sore throat. He shouted and locked down hard, Stiles crying out as his ass clenched too tight for Stiles to move. He couldn't tell what was slick from come or lube. Pleasure bit at him, ripped into his skin and let it bleed raw and exposed. Like there wasn't a secret place left within him. Like he'd offered everything he had hiding. 

The sounds of Stiles pulling out, obscene squelching noises that couldn't embarrass him, flushed with the sound of their heavy breathing. Derek kept crying out, whimpering, quiet noises clung to the ends of soundless sobs. Stiles was murmuring, no words but Derek's name. His skin twitched, wetness on his thighs spreading as he moved, and he was open and loose and exposed. 

“Don't heal too fast. If it hurts, do it, but otherwise, leave it be. I want you to remember how it felt, how it'll always feel when we do it.” Stiles stripped the glove with a snapping sound, little thuds of things hitting the ground as he settled back. He took hold of Derek's hips and pulled the pillow free from under him, easing him into the bed. He touched Derek's upper back, spreading his stinging cheeks as he moved downwards. “You did exactly what I wanted, Derek. You did perfectly.”

He let his eyes drift back open, not sure when he'd closed them, when the praise came. That was painful, too. The bed felt too warm, his skin too cold, and Stiles' words swept everything away until his skin felt right again. Until he felt like himself again. Derek nuzzled the sheets under his chin as the bed dipped with Stiles' movements. Derek watched him move out of sight, smiling hazily under the fresh sheet that was draped over his hips, and leaning over just enough to let Stiles crawl in beside him.

Stiles' hands were everywhere over his back, still greasy from the lube but feather-light over his back and shoulders. Derek moved into him and Stiles slid into his side, curling around Derek's splayed form so he could pet Derek's skin.

“Are you tired now?” Stiles asked, lips curled into a smile and skin still flushed with exertion. 

Derek nodded. 

“Then, we'll go to sleep. And we'll live happily ever after.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is a 5-6 chapter story, with a planned prequel drabble and Lydia-centric side-story. I will be adding tags as I post chapters concerning the kinks that I am writing, as well as any other information. If there is any trigger I have not tagged for, I apologize and please contact me so I may properly tag, for this chapter and all future chapters.


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